


The Biological Imperative

by BryonNightshade



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Horny Teenagers, Kwami Shenanigans, Post-Reveal Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Teenage Dorks, What "Kwami of Creation" actually means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryonNightshade/pseuds/BryonNightshade
Summary: After three years of superheroics, Adrien and Marinette-- on the verge of finishing high school-- have learned each other's alter egos. They're now (ahem) deeply involved with each other. With that involvement comes even more teen awkwardness and questionable decision-making, along with new powers, personal development, and maybe-- just maybe-- some plot resolution.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 215
Kudos: 446





	1. The New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll update this story every Sunday evening until completion.  
> For the sake of clarity: this story has some explicit content, but it is in service to the characters rather than gratuitous. Nothing against smut—I enjoy a good smut-fic as much as anyone—I just want to ensure people have the right expectations. For those who don’t care for such things, I’m cross-posting a cleaner version of this same story at Fanfiction.net.

Ladybug, heroine of Paris, Guardian of the Miraculous, partner (ahem) to Cat Noir, alighted on the balcony to her alter ego’s home. “It’s good to be back,” she said. “Spots off.”

In moments, the striking red and black costume had returned to nothing, leaving only the young woman Marinette. The years she’d spent in super-heroism had been kind to her. Now in her final year of high school, Marinette’s face had retained its youthful cuteness, complimented now with more maturity than her age would suggest. Her form had filled out with toned muscle—not the bulging but useless ornaments of the body builder, but the lean tools of someone used to throwing her body around. Her lower body in particular had benefitted, with legs and glutes befitting someone who ran rooftops on a daily basis. Her chest hadn’t kept pace, and she had resigned herself to having one of the smaller busts in her class.

Not, she reflected happily, that her lover seemed to mind.

Sighing contentedly, she flopped back on to her own bed. “Another successful patrol,” she said.

“Oh?” said Tikki. The kwami’s oversized eyes were twinkling with amusement as she floated into Marinette’s line of sight. Tikki was clearly a creature of magic, colored candy-apple red with black spots. Coloration was about all Tikki had in common with the ladybugs she was supposed to evoke. Then again, ladybugs didn’t bestow or wield the powers of creation, so a loose interpretation was just as well. “’Patrol’? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What do you mean?” said Marinette weakly. “What would you call it?”

“Well, since we’re in Paris, I believe the word is ‘liaison’,” Tikki answered. “I think the more colloquial term is “booty call”.”

Marinette flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I did go around Paris, didn’t I? I looked out for crime and any evidence of akumas. That counts as a patrol, doesn’t it?”

“And your route took you to the Agreste manor, where you de-transformed and visited your paramour… that was just a happy coincidence, hm?”

“Busted,” Marinette sighed. She tossed her head. “I regret nothing.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Tikki. “Young love is something to behold.”

“Thanks for being so understanding,” said Marinette, stretching out languorously. “You… er… don’t mind that I’m using the transformation this way?”

Tikki gave a too-knowing look. “I’ve had plenty of Ladybugs before. You aren’t the first to get tangled up with her Cat Noir, and you’re definitely not the first to be seized by her hormones.”

Marinette cringed. “You make it sound so bad when you say that.”

“Au contraire—I think it couldn’t be more natural.” Tikki started floating from one to another of Marinette’s fingers, using them to count off, since she had no defined digits of her own. “You and your Cat Noir are both young. You haven’t escaped adolescence yet—you have all a teenager’s hormones in a nearly-complete body. You’re in a line of work that subjects you to frequent doses of adrenaline. Your state of fitness is excellent, and all that exercise pumps endorphins into your system almost constantly. All the danger has honed your survival instinct, which extends to other aspects of survival, too. And, if I may, you’re both quite yummy, as humans go.”

“Now you’re making it sound all chemical,” said Marinette with a frown.

“No, _al_ chemical,” Tikki corrected. “That’s just the physical part. The emotional part is just as strong. You and Adrien had a bond of friendship. Ladybug and Cat Noir had another kind of bond, different but no less real, based on comradery under fire and proven bravery. Add on top of that the sexual tension that had been building between you and Adrien, and between Cat Noir and Ladybug, for literal years. When those bonds all came together…”

“…we snapped together like magnets,” Marinette said, blushing furiously.

“Frankly, it would have been dangerous if the stalemate had gone on much longer,” said Tikki. “Plagg and I were wondering if we would have to intervene. Luckily, you two found each other out on your own.”

“I barely remember how it happened,” said Marinette, losing herself in reminiscence. “It was after purifying an akuma—one of us went to detransform, the other followed on accident—I don’t even remember which of us was first. All I know is I was looking at him, and I knew, and he was looking at me, and then he knew, and then…”

“And then?” prompted Tikki.

“…the rest is a blur,” said Marinette. “Not much stands out, but I remember… wait, you were there! Why are you asking me? You know what happened!”

“Of course,” said Tikki with a giggle, “but it’s fun to hear about it from another’s perspective. We kwami don’t have sex, so we have to experience it vicariously, through our bonds with our hosts.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” said Marinette, and she sprawled back out again, feeling very much at peace with the world. She fancied she could still feel the warmth he’d given her when he’d lost control at last…

“Yes,” said Tikki, floating just into Marinette’s line of sight, bringing her back from her reverie. “We miss out on sex. And everything that goes with it.”

The words were just a little too pointed. Marinette sighed. “You’re still going on about that?”

Tikki shrugged, with affected nonchalance. “I just think it’s a good idea.”

Marinette closed her eyes so she couldn’t see her magical companion. “You’re probably right,” she admitted, but even as she spoke she ran her hands up her body, pretending they were Adrien’s. She brought her fingers to her nose, hoping to catch some trace of his scent still on her hands. She felt the pleasant soreness that reminded her just how she’d spent the high point of her ‘patrol’, a soreness no exercise had given her before her and Adrien’s mutual unveiling…

She hummed. No way she was killing this buzz. “I’ll check tomorrow.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Promise.”

The kwami sighed. “I guess that’s as good as I’ll get. I’ll get the lights, if you’ll just tell me…”

“Top drawer,” said Marinette, gesturing vaguely at her desk, where a partially-open wrapper of biscuits remained from earlier in the day.

“Goodnight, Marinette,” Tikki said.

“Mmmm,” murmured the heroine as the world began to dim. “Yes it was.”

* * *

The smell was amazing.

It was a good thing few of the mansion’s residents ever came into his room, Adrien reflected. Someone might just pick up the smell. It had faded since the night before, to be sure, but he could still detect traces of it.

The smell of sweat and sex.

Every one of Ladybug/Marinette’s visits was a delight. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her—or any other part of him, for that matter. To his amazement and joy, she felt the same. That was, after all, why she had appeared on his balcony last night, at a perfectly indecent hour, with perfectly indecent intentions.

His cock was hard, a combination of morning wood and delightful memories working their magic on his only-too-pliable body.

As with Marinette, that body had been treated kindly by a few years of superheroics. He’d already had a slim-but-firm sort of build, and the years had emphasized that. He hadn’t filled out so much as filled in: while his profile was hardly larger, it was solid. His muscles were tight and well-defined; they barely stood out beneath clothes, but without clothes covering them, an anatomy student could trace his entire musculature. Marinette loved to do just that—loved to run her hands over him, following the lines of his chest, of his arms, of his abs, of his--

His alarm went off. He groaned his displeasure. That meant it was time for his morning hygiene rituals. He’d been performing them, in all their scrupulous and time-consuming detail, for years. It had started as a forced thing, the occupational requirements of a model, but it was internalized now. Automatic.

He found he almost didn’t want to. It would get rid of the smell, and the dried evidence of how he’d spent his night.

Which of course was a compelling reason to do the routine. His father would flip a table if he even suspected Adrien was getting laid. Most of the staff would eagerly rat him out if they thought his father would reward them for it. The fact that his dalliances with Marinette were all tied up with their superheroics made it even more complicated.

Adrien frowned. He may have gotten used to the whole secret-life part of being a superhero, but that didn’t mean it felt good. Hiding his relationship with Marinette—something that had made him happier than he’d ever been—felt even less good.

He’d need to have words with his father, sooner or later.

It was a bracing thought, and it was almost enough to make him lose his hard-on. But then he remembered why he would be confronting his father—for the right to fuck Marinette as much as they damn well pleased—and it came roaring back.

Later, he promised himself.

As he headed to his luxurious and over-stocked bathroom, he passed the basket where Plagg preferred to sleep. A thought occurred to him, so he diverted for a moment. The kwami was curled up so his head rested on his own tail. It was the sort of posture a cat might adopt, and Plagg did vaguely resemble a caricature of a black cat. It might have been adorable if Adrien wasn’t fully aware of the kwami’s attitude.

“Plagg,” he prompted.

“If you don’t have any cheese, go away.”

The voice was a little too quick to reply, a little too clear, for Plagg to have just woken up. Adrien felt, as he often did, that the creature was being anti-social for the heck of it. “Plagg,” he said again.

“What?” was the cranky reply. Those over-sized eyes, shaped like a cat’s but a vivid green, opened at last and gave Adrien a critical look.

“I’ll be transforming to go see Ladybug again,” he said. “First chance I get. Probably tonight.”

“And by “see” you mean “rut”, don’t you?”

Adrien’s dick throbbed. “Well, yeah.”

Plagg scowled. “You woke me up for that? As if I couldn’t guess.”

“You’re okay with it?” Adrien asked.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “The holder of the Cat Ring is a human just like the rest, so it’s expected he does the things humans do. It’s nothing to me either way. Tikki is the one interested in that stuff. So long as there’s some camembert waiting for me afterwards, do what you want.”

The reply was too mercenary for Adrien’s tastes. Adrien wondered, as he often did, how he’d ended up with the asshole kwami.

Still… “Good enough,” he said, heading back for the bathroom. “I’ll be a bit. Wouldn’t want you to lose too much beauty sleep.”

“Between you and me, you’re the ugly one,” Plagg said through a yawn. “Way too… human.”

“Right,” said Adrien with a grin. He headed for the shower.

His still-erect penis led the way into the hot water. It reminded him, sensation-wise, of his escapades the night before. Warm, wet—no pressure, not the sweet caresses of his lover’s sex, but he could simulate that…

He considered it for a moment. It wasn’t as if the erection was going away on its own. Sure, he wasn’t helping matters by thinking about sex all the time, but for the past month and a half his thoughts had rarely strayed far from that topic. Would he have to relieve himself just to get through the day?

After a moment, he grinned. Nah. That would be a waste. Why spend his arousal on himself when he could share it with his lover?

Maybe he could persuade Marinette to sneak away for a nooner.

Grinning like the cat who got the canary, he started to wash.

* * *

“So, what is it that’s changed?”

“Hm?” said Marinette, wrong-footed.

Alya adjusted her backpack as the two of them walked to class. The bushy-haired, bespectacled brunette had a wide variety of prying looks, the better to get at all the dirt she loved so much. Now, she turned her most penetrating on Marinette. “Don’t play dumb,” she said. “You’re not good at it. Something has changed. I want to know what it is.”

“Nothing has changed,” Marinette said quickly. “I mean, some stuff has changed, we’re going to be graduating soon, and we’re all thinking about careers and college and all those things—that’s changed. Sorry, what?”

Alya shook her head. “It’s not any of that, duh. It’s about you and Adrien.”

Marinette blinked. “What about me and Adrien?”

Alya fixed her friend with a steady gaze. “Ten minutes ago, you and he greeted each other. You shared a quick joke, smiled freely, and moved on.”

Marinette’s eyes darted about. “What’s suspicious about that?”

“That’s an awfully defensive thing to say,” Alya said keenly. “I didn’t say it was suspicious. I just said it was different.”

“Is it?” said Marinette, her panic rising. “How?”

Alya sighed. “You’re not playing dumb this time,” she said, “and that makes it worse. Remember how it took you a month to be able to say two sentences around Adrien?”

“Yeah?”

“And how you used to have entire strategy meetings with us just to arrange conversations with him? And when you actually got conversations with him they made you want to leave the country afterwards?”

Marinette buried her face in her hands. “Vividly.”

“Compared to that, a normal conversation is decidedly abnormal.”

“Well, maybe we got more comfortable with each other,” said Marinette, trying to squirm away. “These things take time, don’t they?”

“Three months ago you set the fire alarms off. Do you remember why?”

Marinette’s blush skipped red and went directly to maroon. “Don’t do this!” she pleaded.

Alya was remorseless. “You wrote a note to me saying that you wanted to go on a date with Adrien, but didn’t know how to ask him. I threw the note away. When you realized it was Adrien’s day to take the garbage out, you set the garbage can on fire before he could get to it.”

“Just thinking about it makes me want to die,” groaned Marinette.

“It would have been simpler to get the note out, or to offer to take the garbage out yourself. But no: you completely lost your head and committed minor arson.”

“Hey, no one got hurt,” Marinette protested. “And there was no permanent damage to anything. Well, except the garbage can, that was a write-off.”

“And who helped cover for you?”

Marinette hung her head in defeat. “You did.”

“Damn straight. Just to be clear: that was three months ago. Since then, the two of you have gotten positively chummy. What. Changed?”

“Uhhh… oh, look, we’re at our classroom!” said Marinette, ducking inside.

Alya rolled her eyes and followed Marinette. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” she persisted. “And don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed.”

“There’s nothing to…” her denial wilted under Alya’s gaze. “Okay, yeah maybe. Who else has noticed?”

“Literally everyone,” said Alya.

“No way,” said Marinette firmly.

“Glance to your right.”

Adrien had entered the class behind them and gone to his desk. His eyes strayed to Marinette. When their eyes met, he smiled warmly and raised his head in acknowledgement. She matched his gestures, feeling tingly.

Some books came crashing onto Adrien’s desk. “Oh, so sorry Adri-kins,” Chloe proclaimed, hastening to pick up her ‘mess’. Adrien started to help her; while his attention was occupied, Chloe shot a look at Marinette so venomous the blue-nette felt slapped. Chloe was well-practiced at this sort of gesture; her blonde hair, blue eyes, and delicate features would have been pretty if they weren’t so often turned up in disdain. A privileged upbringing and doting father probably weren’t to blame for her caustic personality, but they sure didn’t help.

Chloe did not take losing kindly, as she was reminding Marinette at that very moment.

“Ouch,” Marinette said.

“Chloe’s feeling it, too,” Alya said. “She’s taking it less gracefully than I am. Haven’t you noticed how she’s been akumatized a lot lately?”

“There’s always a lot of akumatizing in Chloe’s orbit,” said Marinette in a low voice. “She has that effect on people.”

“She’s been akumatized seven times in three weeks,” Alya said. “Even for her, that’s a record.”

That took Marinette aback. “You know,” she said, “you’re right. I hadn’t realized.”

“You hadn’t realized?” repeated Alya, unbelieving. “How could you miss it? What else would have your attention?”

The honest answer, the one that stuck in Marinette’s throat, was, “The sexy bod of my super-partner, and the prospect of a hard fuck after we smash the bad guy but before anyone misses us, while the blood is still pumping hot in our veins, it’s the best.”

The answer she gave was, “Uh… stuff?”

She was wincing before the words were even out of her mouth. She was cowering before Alya in moments.

“I thought you could tell me, at least,” the brunette said, and hurt crept into her voice.

“I’m sorry,” was all Marinette could manage.

Alya sighed. “Look, I know you’re not so much ‘innocent’ as ‘awkward’. I get it if it takes you a minute to figure out how to say it. I just hope you don’t drag it out anymore. This is getting cringey.”

“I’ll manage it soon,” said Marinette. Even she noticed that her voice had the edge of determination, the one that spoke to people; the effect on Alya was instantly visible. “But not here. There’s a reason I’m being cagey, trust me.”

“I get it,” said Alya. “But you will let me in on it?”

“Promise,” said Marinette with a nod.

Alya beamed at her. The difference was electric. “That’s the Marinette I know!”

* * *

Bam, bam, bam.

“What was I thinking?” Marinette groaned in between impacts of her head against the bathroom stall’s door.

Tikki’s voice rose out of Marinette’s handbag. “You were thinking that telling your friend would be better than hiding forever.”

“I didn’t want to hide forever, I just wanted to hide until the right time!”

“And when would that be?”

“Uh… shortly after the stars grow cold.”

Tikki nodded. “You knew you’d have to do this eventually. Well, this just settles the ‘when’. You still control the ‘how’.”

“That’s something, I guess,” Marinette answered. She banged her head twice more, for good measure, before sitting back. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve just gotten so used to acting secretive. I’ve been Ladybug so long now that not telling my friends things became the new normal.”

“It’s a problem all Ladybugs face,” Tikki said sympathetically. “It’s one reason they end up falling for their Cat Noirs so often.”

That took Marinette aback. She hadn’t thought about it, but… “Because their Cats are the only people who can relate,” she said slowly. “They’re the only ones who have to deal with the same issue.”

“You’re in good company,” said Tikki. “But that doesn’t mean you should keep your friends in the dark about everything else. In fact, if you play your cards right, this can help maintain your cover.”

Marinette perked up, and a beat later, she saw what Tikki meant. “You’re right! If people know Adrien and I are a couple, then it’s not suspicious if we disappear together or reappear together! We have a ready-made excuse for wanting some time together and out of sight, and we can always vouch for each other’s location!”

“So long as Ladybug and Cat Noir keep appearing and retreating from different directions, the ruse should hold,” Tikki agreed.

Marinette cringed. “Ooh… I don’t know how I feel about this. What are people going to think about me if they believe I’m using every akuma attack as a chance to make out with Adrien?”

“But that’s exactly what you are doing,” Tikki pointed out.

Blood rushed to Marinette’s face—and to other places. She was momentarily overcome by some very exhilarating memories of post-victory sessions with Cat, sessions where they’d doubled up on the euphoria of victory with the thrill of a quickie.

The naughtiness of stealing time in the middle of the day, of sneaking in some hot sex while their classmates were still emerging from cover, and returning to class with the rest of them but with him grinning incorrigibly and her dampening her panties with his offering to her…

She bit her lip and rubbed her legs together idly.

“Earth to Marinette.”

“Sorry, what?” said Marinette, snapping back to reality. “Oh! Well, I guess… now that I think about it, people might give me a break. I mean, it is Adrien, after all. Let’s be honest, half the school wanted to bag him. I don’t suppose they’d blame me for… wanting…”

“You trailed off again,” Tikki pointed out.

“Half the school wanted to get with Adrien,” Marinette said ominously. “When we go public, I’m going to make a lot of people really upset. That’s a lot of negative emotions flooding the streets. And Chloe! She’s shooting me death glares just for _talking_ to Adrien. When she learns that we’re together, she’ll have dozens of akumas following her.”

“A whole flutter,” said Tikki agreeably.

“A… what?”

“A flutter,” Tikki repeated. “It’s the collective noun for moths.”

Marinette frowned. “You’re making that up.”

“I am not!” Tikki squeaked indignantly. “Anyway, don’t be so sure.”

“About what?”

“About there being so many akumas when you go public,” Tikki said. “Incidentally, you are going to…”

“Yes, yes,” said Marinette.

“You’ve said that before,” Tikki said pointedly.

“Yeah, I… oh!” She smacked a fist into her other hand. “This afternoon, after school. I’ll take Alya to the store with me. It’ll give me a chance to have some privacy to talk with her, and I can make the purchase in the same trip.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tikki said with a nod.

“Hey!” came a new, muffled voice from outside.

Marinette sat bolt upright. “What is it?”

“You’ve been in the bathroom forever! Either call for help or get out—we’re dying out here!”

“Coming, coming,” Marinette said hastily. She stood right up off the toilet, having never actually needed to go in the first place. Tikki took her place in Marinette’s handbag quickly and without complaint. Marinette flushed the toilet to cover her tracks and went to wash her hands.

* * *

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Adrien was grinning from around the row of books. Marinette felt like the temperature of the room went up two degrees instantly.

“Oh, hi!” she said, tensing slightly.

“What, you’re gonna be bashful now?” he teased, and lowered his voice. “After all we’ve done together?”

“Shhhhh!” Marinette hissed. When she realized she’d drawn the attention of a nearby table, she gave a “shhh!” at them, too, before disappearing around the next row.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Eep!” said Marinette. She looked to where the voice had come from. Adrien’s head was poking through a gap in the stacks where there were no books.

“I mean, you’re cute when you’re not embarrassed, too,” Adrien went on. “You’re cute all the time. But that blush you make, and the way your eyes get all big…” He suddenly looked thoughtful. “It reminds me of other times that you look like that.”

“If I didn’t love you so much, this would be super-creepy,” Marinette told him.

“But you do, and I know you do, so what’s the harm? It’s just a little fun.”

“You say that, but other people are catching on that we’re… you know…”

“…together?” he finished.

“Or something,” Marinette said.

“Good,” Adrien said.

“What?” said Marinette, caught off-guard.

“Good,” Adrien said again. “I never wanted to hide forever. It’s fun sneaking around, but it’d be more fun to walk through school with my arm around you. I want to… just be with you, without worrying about it all the time.”

Marinette’s heart was pounding in her chest. She wanted to not move, and she also wanted to pull him through the bookshelf and smother him with kisses.

He looked to the side, suddenly taciturn. “We can’t yet, though,” he said, unhappily. “I need to figure out what we do about my father.”

In her head, Marinette saw herself grabbing his hand and saying, “Whatever he says, we’ll face it together! I know the power of our love will bring us through!”

Even in her head it sounded stupid.

“I don’t want to make you choose between me or your father,” she said in a small voice.

“Are you kidding?” He looked to her again, eyes blazing. “There’s no choice, there—it’s you, every time. I just want for it to not be a choice.”

Marinette was so stunned by this admission that she was surprised to feel a smile stealing over her face. When she realized it was happening, she leaned into it. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to show him, then.”

“Show him what?” said Adrien, wrong-footed.

“Show him that you knew what you were doing,” Marinette replied, her face set with determination. “We’ll show him that you know how to pick ‘em.”

“Whoa,” whispered Adrien.

“What?”

“You may be cute when you’re embarrassed,” Adrien said, “but when you’re like this? When you’re in “I’ve got a plan and I’m gonna do it” mode? Then you’re drop-dead sexy.”

“You’re a serial flatterer.” She glanced around quickly before dropping her voice. “Don’t make me drag you to a corner.”

“I’d love nothing more… my lady.”

She shuddered. It was a subtle difference from his usual term for her, but it was filled with wholly different meanings and subtexts. It made her seriously ponder the logistics of the matter, until she felt her phone buzz in her bag. She heard Adrien’s chirp at him in the same moment. She sighed. “Seriously?”

A moment later, the school’s PA system announced, “Code red-black. Code red-black. All students, proceed to shelters. All students, proceed to shelters.”

“I suppose we were due,” Adrien said with a sarcastic shrug. “It’s been a whole fifty hours since the last akuma attack.”

“That’s our music,” Marinette said. “Let’s dance.”

“Meet you there,” said Adrien, and he moved away—presumably to find a quiet spot to transform.

Marinette took in her surroundings and decided this was as good a place as any. She moved a little to be sure of her privacy, then opened her bag. “Tikki, it’s that time again.”

“I’m ready when you are!”

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Across the Rooftops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter of this story. Also the most explicit, just so we manage expectations.

“Fancy meeting you here, milady.”

Ladybug had only just alighted on the rooftop when the words came to her. Sure enough, Cat Noir had got there a beat before her. She shot him a raised-eyebrow look. “Déjà vu,” she said.

Her partner gave a too-knowing grin. “All over again.”

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Ladybug said.

“It’d break my heart if you really felt like that,” Cat replied with a wink.

"Let's at least get catering next time."

“Ignore me, will you?!” began the villain with a pout for attention. It fired off some kind of energy attack, which the heroes dodged with the casual ease of the long-experienced. Not that the villain had been trying too hard to hit; it was just an attention-getter. “Now I say it’s time for your destruction! All Paris will bow before—hrrk!”

The villain never had a chance to declare its moniker or lay out its agenda, because Cat and Ladybug were on the attack. A broad yo-yo swing from Ladybug caused the villain to dodge to its right—straight into the path of a staff attack from Cat. The villain had to block, creating an opening for Ladybug, who landed a right cross to the face.

The villain recoiled from the hit, and retreated a few steps. The heroes gave it no breathing room. Ladybug swept low with her yo-yo, hunting the villain’s legs. A hop allowed the villain to dodge that attack, but left it unable to do anything about a rising kick from Cat.

The villain hit the rooftop clumsily. Before it could think to defend itself, the heroes each struck at a prop or piece of its costume, trying to break them—searching for anything that might hide an akuma.

The villain regained its footing and backed away. “You dare ignore my manifesto—gak!”

“We’re not ignoring it,” said Cat with a twirl of his staff that held the villain’s attention.

“We just don’t care,” said Ladybug as she landed a kick that sent the villain sprawling.

“Which I suppose is like ignoring it,” Cat said with a thoughtfulness that belied the speed of his pounce.

Once more both heroes probed for where the akuma might be hiding. The nature of the villain’s costume, just like its name, powers, and motivations, were unimportant in the moment. All that mattered was the routine, almost professional thumping the well-practiced heroes were delivering.

The villain threw off Cat, who landed nimbly on his feet, and retreated. This gave it no more opportunities than it’d already had; the heroes were hot on its heels. Ladybug and Cat Noir had grown into their powers over the years, as both body and mind matured and they internalized dozens of battles a year.

Their teamwork was an even more potent weapon, honed to razor sharpness across years of teamfights. What had been clumsy and ad hoc was now natural and fluid. They communicated in winks and nods and, frequently, nothing at all—simply _knowing_ where their partner would be next, as if they shared a brain. They knew each other, inside (ahem) and out.

What chance could a newly minted villain, alone and freshly introduced to unpredictable powers, stand against that?

Synchronized swings from the heroes’ outside fists forced the villain to block with both hands. Red and black inside fists came in as one, meeting at the villain’s gut. The villain jackknifed forwards.

“Rookie mistake,” said Cat. He and Ladybug resumed their search, and an odd sound reached his keen ears. A firm thwack from his staff shattered the villain’s headpiece; a corrupted moth flew out of the crack.

“There we go,” said Cat. “I win this time, milady.”

“I still lead overall,” Ladybug shot back.

“That’s because you’re supernaturally lucky. Anyway, isn’t this part all yours?”

“You know it is,” she said, twirling her yo-yo. She tracked the akuma as it fluttered frantically away. When it reached the edge of her range, the yo-yo zipped out and snatched it up. “Gotcha!” she said as she reeled it in.

“Trying to up the degree of difficulty?” Cat said, amused.

Ladybug looked sheepish. “I suppose you’re the one who’d notice,” she said. “Still, better than me going on autopilot and getting sloppy. It’s like our find-the-akuma races that way.” She traced her finger along the back of the yo-yo, releasing the purified moth.

From a nearby perch, Alya clicked her stopwatch. She looked away from her binoculars to glance at it. “Wow,” she said, eyes widening. “That’s a new record.”

Ladybug’s eyes followed the moth only a moment before she looked around. “You know, I don’t think I need to use my Miraculous ability. We responded pronto and there wasn’t much damage at all.”

“That’s perfect, then,” said Cat enigmatically.

“What an intriguing reaction,” Ladybug said.

“In a moment,” Cat said. “First, let’s see who our victim was.”

“Where am I?” said the voice of Sabrina, Chloe’s servile tagalong, in the all-too-familiar disorientation of the akumatized. She noticed her company and flushed with embarrassment. “Ohmigosh, not again?!”

“Again,” confirmed Cat Noir.

“You really need to find some healthier relationships,” said Ladybug sagely.

“Oh, but it’s not her fault, really,” Sabrina said. “She’s having a hard time lately, is all.”

“Who? Not Chloe?” said Cat, a touch confused.

“Yes Chloe,” said Ladybug. “I’ll explain later.” To Sabrina, she added, “And it’s not right for you to have to suffer all Chloe’s temper tantrums.”

“It isn’t her fault,” Sabrina insisted. “She’s just not handling things well.”

“So she takes it out on you? You don’t deserve that,” Cat said.

“She doesn’t mean it like that,” Sabrina said.

“But it’s hurting you,” Ladybug pointed out. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be getting akumatized.” She knew she’d hit home when Sabrina’s mouth opened but no words came out. “We’ll get you back to the ground, but we can’t help you stand up for yourself when Chloe is mean to you. If you need help with that, why don’t you ask your classmates? You’re surrounded by people who’ll help if you just ask.”

Sabrina’s face lit up. “Like Adrien, you mean?”

Cat played off his reaction as a coughing fit. Ladybug gave him the side-eye, then said, “The best way to figure that out is to get to know them better, with or without Chloe.”

Sabrina’s face fell. “But Chloe needs me now more than ever!”

Cat replied, “If that comes at the cost of you getting akumatized, that’s not a fair trade.”

“But if I’m not there to help her deal with it, it’ll just be her getting akumatized,” Sabrina objected.

“You’re proving my point,” said Ladybug. “If she’s abusing you as a coping mechanism, that’s her fault, not yours. It’s not your responsibility to take that. It’s hers to grow up.”

Sabrina reluctantly nodded. “You’re right.”

Cat privately reflected that variations of this conversation had happened several times before. Well, who knew? Maybe seventh time was the charm.

“I’ll bring you down,” said Ladybug kindly.

“The hot house after?” suggested Cat.

Ladybug spared him a curious look. That was code to meet him at a particular place, she knew—but why there, now? Well, she might as well trust him on this. She trusted him with everything else.

 _Everything_ , she thought again, with a blush the mask didn’t wholly conceal.

“Sure,” she assented, before turning to heft up the shaken Sabrina. Using her yo-yo, she easily descended from the building, dropped off the unsteady but unharmed girl, and returned to the rooftops.

* * *

The “hot house” was a very old, multi-family building that had somehow escaped all of Paris’ urban renewal projects thus far. It still had a multitude of smokestacks, one for each residence in the building, which was why Ladybug and Cat Noir called it that. There were enough smokestacks, in fact, to completely block off certain areas of the roof from outside observation.

If you wanted privacy, and had the ability to travel by rooftop, it was a grand place to go.

Ladybug touched down in the private courtyard. Cat Noir was waiting for her, as she knew he would be. “So,” she said, “what’s so urgent we had to meet at the hot house?” She had a pretty good idea, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s not nearly as hot as you are,” Cat replied huskily. In two strides he was pressed up against her and his lips had captured hers. She responded instantly, pushing back to him, wrapping her arms around and squeezing to him. Her modest bosom squished against his firm chest. She barely noticed this. All her attention was on the kiss, the feel, the heat. The pressure.

Her heart had been thumping hard already, from the fight and the subsequent travel. Now it was pounding a tattoo against her chest.

Fuck, she needed him.

It had come out of nowhere—she hadn’t been thinking of jumping him just moments ago, but now her need was all-consuming. She raised a leg and wrapped it around him, letting her grind her rising lust against him. Marinette never could have managed it, but superheroism had its perks. With Ladybug’s superhuman strength and balance, she was able to kiss her lover, roll her hips to dry-hump him, and rake her fingers down his back with nary a wobble.

It was all having a predictable effect on him. She could feel him reacting. She broke away with a sultry smile. “I love making my kitty purr,” she cooed. A deeper roll caressed him through their oh-so-tight costumes.

“Careful,” he growled, “I’m a little feral still. I might bite.”

“What, you think I’m not tough enough to take it?” she said daringly, running her fingers through his hair.

“I know you are… my lady.”

She shivered. It was so similar to his usual “milady”, but what a difference that little bit of enunciation made. “Milady” was formal, respectful, familiar in a coworker sort of way. “My lady” was possessive, intimate, familiar in a carnal way.

She knew what it meant. He was done flirting. So was she.

She put her foot back on the ground. “Tikki,” she began, “spo—”

With reflexes worthy of his name, Cat Noir put a finger over Ladybug’s lips to silence her. She gave him a puzzled look. He jerked his head behind her. “Put your hands on the wall.”

She didn’t understand, but she trusted him with (ahem) everything—she’d trust him here. She rotated on the spot and reached out to place her hands on the brick wall. It caused her rear to jut out, which she emphasized with a side-to-side wiggle. He responded with a hungry growl and a groping hand.

She went still to give him a steadier target, and because it felt nice. His hand worked its way between her legs, caressing the curve of her crotch through her suit. Her garb didn’t deaden the sensation much.

His fingers began plucking at her super-suit, pulling it away from her crotch. He didn’t get far; the suit had precious little slack. Still, he was able to gather some, which caused it to grip the rest of her body even more tightly.

“Cataclysm,” he whispered.

There was the sound of disintegration. She gasped as cool air rushed over her heated, sodden nethers. He’d used his power to tear a convenience crotch out of her suit. And his too, she realized as she felt him prodding against her.

“You found a way to fuck while transformed,” she said approvingly. “Kinky. But even with your stamina training, you can only last eight minutes before de-transforming. Think you can get me off in that time?”

He scoffed. “You just hope you’re still conscious in eight minutes.”

And he plunged into her.

If she hadn’t been transformed, the act would have been painful, even dangerous. His thrust was deep, forceful, and without preamble. But she was transformed, and her superhuman durability apparently included her tender sex, which could withstand his worst.

Even so, a tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure. This was not a turn-off.

Ladybug hissed as Cat took three aggressive thrusts to bottom out in her—only to turn that into a steady pace. It was a pace he normally reserved for his finishing strokes; this time he kicked into that gear immediately.

And sustained it.

His clawed fingers dug into the material of her hips as he held her fast, yanking her back against him to meet every stroke. The smack of their hips was like someone clapping blocks of wood together. It was so different from their usual sex. Adrien had passion, yes, but there was a tenderness there. He cherished her, and it showed.

As Cat, none of that came through. What he had was hunger. Desperation. Uncontained desire and lust.

It was a thrill like she hadn’t expected or experienced, and she loved how it swept her away.

He found an even greater degree of passion. He was using his full hero’s might on her now, fucking her against the wall with so much force her hands were breaking the bricks. She had no mind to thrust back at him. All the energy of the act was his, and she was riding his tide. She looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen him, like he couldn’t see enough of her, like it was the sight rather than the feeling that was bringing him to such heights.

The feeling was plenty good for both of them.

His hips became a blur; her head lolled forward helplessly as even her superpower-enhanced senses were overcome with pleasure. She gasped as she felt him swell and explode, as she felt his warmth gushing into her, gift and claim at once, and her eyes fluttered shut as her orgasm took her.

He shuddered against her and went still. She let him drape over her, feeling his body hot and heaving.

“I… needed that,” he said at last. “Ugh…”

He disengaged from her suddenly. She heard the sound of him detransforming. Apparently orgasm had drained the last of his transformation time. The feeling on her back changed from a superhero holding his own weight to a mere mortal—an exhausted one at that.

“Oof! That zipper appeared out of nowhere.”

Ladybug couldn’t help the snort that followed that comment. “Didn’t think to drop trou before you came on to me?”

“I… well…” Outside of his Cat Noir guise, his Adrien shyness was resurging. “I didn’t think this would ever happen.”

“You never thought you’d have sex with me?” she said, looking back at him.

“I never thought I’d have sex with _Ladybug_ ,” he specified. “No matter how often I fantasized about just that. God, I loved and lusted for Ladybug for years, you know that. And I know you are Ladybug, but…” He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” She smiled. As Cat in full rut he’d been so intense, but _this_ was who she loved. Seeing the devotion and gratitude in his eyes, she couldn’t help but reciprocate. “Well, consider that fantasy lived.”

She felt as much as heard his chuckle. “And how!” He nuzzled against her affectionately. “Thank you.”

Slowly she eased away from the wall, and only then saw the handprints and cracking she’d left. “I guess we were kinda vigorous,” she said, gesturing.

“Whoops,” he said, without much in the way of remorse.

“Miraculous Ladybugs.”

In a swirl of color the damage reverted—including the damage to Ladybug’s suit, to her and Adrien’s surprise. “Woo-kay, that’s an odd feeling,” she said as the unleashed magics scattered away from her.

Adrien gave a tepid laugh. “Thanks for indulging me. We don’t have to do this again. Like this, I mean. I got it out of my system. Unless…” he swallowed. “Unless you wanted to?”

She gave him a knowing looking-over. “Not all the time,” she said. “But… maybe for a special occasion.”

He brightened. “You mean it?”

“If you earn it,” she said playfully.

A nearby clock began ringing out the time. Ladybug jerked as if shocked. “Oh no! We’ve spent so much time up here—I bet classes are reconvening by now, and I have to find a safe spot to drop you off since you weren’t supposed to be involved, and then I have to find a safe spot for me to transform back that has to be different from where I drop you, and we’re both going to be late and it’s going to be suspicious…”

This time Adrien’s laugh was full. “Never a dull moment.”

* * *

“Well, I expect better self-control from you,” said Chloe derisively. “You do me no favors getting yourself akumatized all the time.”

The irony of these words were not lost on Sabrina, but she could manage no reply. She simply stared at the floor, barely able to safely walk. The school day was over. Sabrina and Chloe were headed for the exits.

Ladybug and Cat Noir’s words rang in Sabrina’s ears… but all of that was easy for _them_ to say! They could just leap to another rooftop and it wasn’t their problem anymore. They didn’t have to live it. Sabrina did, and she didn’t know how.

“Anyway,” Chloe went on, “it’s not that surprising. Marinette is just so… so… aggravating! She’s such a nobody, but something is going on with her, and maybe her and Adri-kins, and I… eurgh!”

“You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

Chloe’s head snapped to the side. Lila Rossi had sidled up alongside Chloe and Sabrina without either of them noticing, and was matching their pace like she belonged there. Lila’s brown hair had bangs that almost dangled in her eyes, a cut that seemed mask-like. Some of the school’s students whispered that this was too appropriate. Lila lied like breathing, and if she held any depths of empathy, morality, or shame, they were as yet undiscovered.

Whispers only, though. Bad things happened to those who crossed Lila Rossi. Nothing could ever be traced back to her… but even the students at Francoise Dupont High School, who had unusually high tolerances for coincidence and self-delusion, had their limits.

“I’ve had it up to here with Marinette,” said Lila. “I know you have, too.”

“So?” said Chloe, her eyes narrowing.

“So…” said Lila, and she rolled her eyes, as if having to spell things out was a major bother. “…what if people all found out something about Marinette? Something… unsavory?”

“It’d have to be something truly heinous to damage class representative, design contest winner, little-miss-perfect Marinette,” grumbled Chloe, each word rich with resentment.

“I’m sure there’s something…” Lila said, words full of suggestion and deniability at once.

Chloe’s expression became more appraising. Sabrina couldn’t help herself. “Don’t bother with her,” she said, eyes flicking at Lila. “Please, Chloe, we have other things to do than obsess over Marinette. I… I still have to copy my notes over for you, remember?”

“Hush, Sabrina,” said Chloe.

Sabrina swallowed hard, and worked up her courage to disobey. “Please?”

Chloe, surprised, gave Sabrina a sharp glance. Sabrina hoped against hope that her fear of being around Lila was making it to Chloe. After looking for a moment, Chloe’s eyes returned to Lila. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” she said.

Lila shrugged. “I’m not ‘playing at’ anything. I was just thinking aloud.”

“Right,” said Chloe unbelievingly, “well, you can ‘think aloud’ somewhere else.”

“I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Lila replied. “Just one more ‘what if’, okay? What if… Marinette is with Adrien?”

“Ridiculous,” said Chloe, almost snarling. “Utterly ridiculous!”

“I’m sure it is,” said Lila gracefully, “but _if_ she snared him somehow…”

When she didn’t finish the sentence, Sabrina and Chloe both felt a pull, a void of words that demanded filling. “Then what?” Chloe said.

Another shrug from Lila. “I imagine we’d have more to talk about,” she said, and a sly smile teased the corners of her mouth. “Excuse me.”

She faded away from them like smoke, lost instantly in the crowd of egressing students.

“We don’t need her,” Sabrina whispered, “no matter what…”

She stopped at the sight of Chloe’s expression. It was locked in a grimace, part hunger, part rage. Sabrina knew, by long association, that Chloe was dwelling on Adrien, and her long-running (and to date fruitless) pursuit of the model.

Sabrina had been about to finish her thought with, “no matter what is going on with Marinette and Adrien”, but that would have been a catastrophe. She substituted, “no matter what _she_ says.”

“Right,” said Chloe after a too-long pause. “Who cares what Lila’s up to, anyway?”

They were the right words. But Sabrina always knew when Chloe was lying.

* * *

Alya was practically bouncing with excitement. She was doing her polite best to contain herself. It wasn’t easy for her.

That didn’t make Marinette feel any better.

“Are you buying something related to Adrien?” Alya said.

Marinette had been on the point of turning down a particular aisle and, at the last second, straightened her path. “N-no, of course not. This is just a convenient place to chat,” she lied.

She could sense Alya’s disbelief. Face burning, she devoted an inordinate amount of attention to looking at the signs marking the aisles.

Perhaps Alya decided that pushing the point would make Marinette clam up, because she dropped it. “Soooo… you and Adrien?”

Marinette closed her eyes and gathered all her resolve. “Adrien… and I… for the past two months… have been… seeing each other.”

She braced for her friend’s reaction.

“’Bout damn time.”

She almost fell over in surprise. “Huh?”

“I’m so happy for you, girl!” Alya said, pulling Marinette into a bone-crushing hug that was closer to Marinette’s expectations. “You’ve been thirsting for him for years, and you finally bagged him! You are the one who asked him, right?” she added, releasing Marinette to meet her eyes. “Because there’s no way he knew how to go about it.”

“It… wasn’t really like that,” Marinette said.

“Well, spill, and don’t leave out any lurid details. Tell me how it really was.”

Marinette opened her mouth, then bit her lip. “Some of the details are… personal.”

“That makes it so much better,” said Alya, her voice becoming lower and more heated. “You’ve been keeping me hanging all this time. Don’t think you’re getting out of a full confessional.”

“I’m not telling you every little thing we’ve done to each other,” Marinette said, blushing furiously.

“Hey, isn’t that what friends are for?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not!”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’ll limit my questions. Fair?”

“Fair-ish,” Marinette said suspiciously.

“Great,” Alya said eagerly. “How many times have you two banged?”

Marinette winced. “This is not how I imagined this conversation going.”

“Then you’ve been in denial,” said Alya, eyes aglow with excitement. “Come on, spill!”

“Ohhh—hey, look at the time! My parents are expecting me back soon, so let’s check out!”

“Oh, no,” Alya said fiercely. “You are not getting out of this.”

“I know,” said Marinette in full verbal-diarrhea mode, “but this is a public place and it gets kinda embarrassing and we can talk more at home—you can stop by my place for dinner, right?—and it’ll give me time to think about how to explain it and also it would be boring for you to watch me check out sowhydon’tyoustandoutsidewhileIpay?”

Before Alya could protest too much she’d been shoved out the door. “Hey!”

“In a minute!” Marinette cried. Then she hurried back to one of the health aisles, grabbed frantically, and rushed back to the checkout counter.

* * *

“As you can see, I’m done with my assignments,” Adrien said.

Nathalie gave the papers a careful once-over. “Very good,” she said. “Your father will be pleased.”

“That’d be a first,” Adrien mumbled.

“What’s that?” Nathalie said sharply.

“I said—that’s not the worst,” Adrien fumbled.

Nathalie raised one eyebrow. Adrien was already regretting his mistake. Nathalie might not look like much, with her slim stature, heavy-lidded eyes, and slack features. He knew better. Caution in her presence was always the smart move.

“I’m also ready for my piano recital,” Adrien said, trying to restore momentum. “You were with me, so you know that. I should be done for the day now.”

Nathalie leaned back and looked at Adrien appraisingly. “You’ve never been a bad student,” she said slowly, “but something’s changed, recently. You’re more… motivated, than you were before.”

“You think so?” said Adrien nervously. If only she knew…

…well, hopefully she’d never know…

“I think I’m just growing up,” he said, rallying to a new cover story. “For the longest time, I was trying to win father’s approval. When I never got it, well, that kind of soured me on the idea. What was the point?

“These days, though… I’m doing these things because I want to. I’m doing them for myself.”

Nathalie blinked rapidly.

Some of Adrien’s old subservience rushed back into him. “If that’s okay, I mean.”

“It is… developmentally appropriate,” replied Nathalie, enunciating carefully. Adrien waited for her to elaborate, but she never did. Instead she returned the stack of papers to him. “You have eaten?”

“Yeah, while I was working on this.”

She gave him the eyebrow again.

“I cleaned up after myself,” he said defensively.

“I’ll check that. If you did not, I’ll be forced to mention it to your father.”

“Resulting in another lecture about where we may have food in this house,” Adrien said glumly, used to the drill. “No one wants that. That’s why I cleaned up!”

She looked at him long enough for it to be uncomfortable. “Very well,” she said at last. “You may retire to your room.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely, and bowed before leaving. That, he knew, was the last anyone would expect to see of him tonight. Which was just fine by him.

When he got to his room and shut the door behind him, he looked at it all. For most of his life, this had been his sanctuary and his prison alike. It was a place for him to be free of his father’s hyper-critical gaze, and also a place he couldn’t leave without escort.

Rebelling—demanding to be allowed to go to high school—had been the best decision of his life. It had broken the chains binding him to this place. Now his room served a different function. It was a privacy screen, like Superman’s phone booths. It was where he went to change. To become something else.

He raised his hands and rolled the Cat Ring between his fingers. A smile bloomed on his face.

He slung the backpack off his shoulders and opened the pouch. “Ready to go, buddy?”

“No, we need to have words first,” Plagg said, tiny arms crossed.

“About what?” said Adrien, taken aback.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” the kwami said sourly. “You think I wouldn’t be able to tell? Well, I’ve got news for you, bub: I’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what?” said Adrien, wrong-footed.

“You haven’t been causing any Cataclysms lately!” Plagg pouted. “More and more, the villains go down without you breaking out the big guns. I’m getting bored.”

“I used Cataclysm today, remember?” Adrien pointed out.

“Yeah, to destroy a few square centimeters of super-suit,” said Plagg, unimpressed. “You think that’s enough for me?”

“Let me get this straight,” Adrien said, frowning. “You’re upset with me because I’m not causing enough destruction?”

The kwami gave a grin with far too much malice for its size. “You remember what kwami I am, don’t you? You remember what it is I _do_?”

“These powers are supposed to be used for the greater good,” Adrien said sternly, aping the words he’d been told. “Going around and destroying things just for giggles doesn’t sound like ‘the greater good’ to me.”

Plagg’s look turned nasty—and then calmed. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said.

“Yeah, lucky is just the word I was thinking,” said Adrien, but in joking tones.

“You sure we can’t blow something up, just for old times’ sake?” Plagg said, but he was pleading now, not demanding. “Surely there’s some irritating possession of your father’s that he could live without.”

Adrien laughed. “I wish.”

“But he’s got so much stuff!” Plagg insisted. “There’s gotta be something he wouldn’t miss if it just disappeared!”

“You’ve got it backwards,” Adrien said. “The more stuff he has, the tighter he clings to it. He did all the interior design for this place himself. If a _napkin_ went out of place, he’d know.”

“Yeesh, your dad has issues,” Plagg said.

Adrien had thought the same thing himself many times—but he’d sooner be akumatized than admit that to Plagg. “We’re not worrying about him right now, okay? We’ve got a mission tonight.”

“What kind of mission?” Plagg said skeptically.

“VIP escort,” said Adrien, somehow keeping a straight face.

Plagg face-palmed. “You humans and your euphemisms.”

Adrien lost control of his laughter. “And yet you keep hanging out with us,” he managed.

“Don’t make me question that decision,” Plagg said warningly.

Adrien grinned.

* * *

“Hey, mom?” said Marinette as she finished putting dishes in the dishwasher.

“Yes, Marinette?” Sabine replied.

“You know I love dad, and I like how he likes to treat our guests, but… tonight, Alya and I are going to be having some girl talk. You know, _girl_ talk. The last thing I need is for him to barge in with a tray of croissants in the middle of that, you know?”

“So you want me to make sure your dad doesn’t interrupt your girl talk?” she said.

“That’d be super,” Marinette said, voice full of relief.

“No problem,” said Sabine, with an almost sinister grin. “I know plenty of ways to keep your father good and distracted.”

“Thanks, I’m…” a look of horror suddenly came over Marinette’s face. “Did you just imply what I think you’re implying?”

“Well,” said her mom innocently, “what did you think I was implying?”

“Oh… oh my…” Marinette’s eyes were wide as her brain rushed through key and now-fraught memories. “You’ve been sneaking innuendo past me for years!”

“I was wondering when you’d start to notice,” she said with a laugh. “It’s a game parents play. See what you can get away with before the kids are wise to it.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Marinette said, shaking her head and wondering if she could ever look at her mother the same way again.

Sabine laughed. “Marinette, you’re adorable, but… how do you think you were made?”

It was the worst possible thing to talk about given what Marinette herself was preparing to spill to Alya. “I love you, mother,” she managed, as she turned and walked away, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

In a way, though… it was reassuring. As bonkers as she was for Adrien, her mother had been just as bonkers for her dad. Maybe still was.

In fact, if they still felt that way after all these years… what did that say about her and Adrien’s odds?

“Now are you ready?”

Alya’s voice jerked her back to reality. Alya was sitting on her bed, looking innocent enough. In her manner, though, Marinette could see a person excited enough to bounce off the walls and only just keeping it inside.

“In a moment,” Marinette said firmly. “We have a condition to set first.”

“Condition?”

“As much as I love you, Alya, you’re a bit of a gossip,” Marinette said. “You run the Ladyblog, after all. The last thing I want is for me to tell you about my love life and then read about it in a blog post—or, worse, hear my classmates quote it back to me.”

“I understand,” said Alya solemnly.

“I’m not sure you do,” Marinette replied sternly. “Adrien is a public figure with a xenophobic dad who needs only the slightest excuse to bury him forever. My dad isn’t famous, but he’s a real white knight-type who would go on the warpath if he knew a fraction of what I’m about to tell you.”

If all of this was supposed to dissuade Alya, it didn’t work. It only seemed to stoke the fire.

“That’s why I need to swear you to secrecy,” Marinette said. “Nothing that I’m about to tell you gets repeated outside of this room.”

Alya had the decency to at least pretend to consider it. Then she put a hand over her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Marinette sighed. She wasn’t going to get more than that. “Okay. Where do we start, then?”

“How’d it happen, girlfriend?” Alya said, bounding in and leaning close. “I figured I’d have to lock you two in a room and lose the key before you got around to having a real conversation. Spill. And don’t leave anything out, okay?”

Marinette had delayed saying more. She’d hoped that she could figure out a way to explain without including the superhero-centric details. A wave of panic went through her at the thought. “Well… it was after an akuma attack. We were both hiding in the same place while we waited for the superheroes to work things out. But then… well…”

“Well?” said Alya, inside Marinette’s personal space with how far forward she was leaning.

Marinette couldn’t take it. She turned away—and her gaze fell on some of her design projects. She smiled. Falling back on design always helped her. “Do you remember those old three-dee illusion pictures? You know, the ones you had to stare at to try and get your brain to put the image together?”

“I always hated those,” said Alya.

“I didn’t. I loved them—couldn’t get enough of them! What I loved about them most was that, once you saw it, you always saw it. It would be clear to you from then on.

“Well, what happened with Adrien was the same thing. I’d always, you know, crushed on him.” Her face bloomed brilliantly with a blush. “And I-I-I’d seen things in him since then, things that told me he was a good person, and the right person to chase after… but then, that day, it was like seeing him for the first time. The real him. And then I knew I loved him. I didn’t just like the idea of Adrien, I wasn’t just having this fantasy-Adrien. I knew that this was real, in a way it hadn’t been before.”

“Wow,” said Alya, awed. “And Adrien?”

“He felt the same way.” Marinette smiled as she thought of it. Her anxiety melted away before the force of memory. “Not that he told me that at the time. But… he didn’t need to. I understood. It was the same experience for him: it was like he was seeing the real me, like he’d never really looked at me before. When he finally realized that he _could_ be in love with me, he realized he already was.”

“But he didn’t say that at the time?”

“No,” said Marinette.

“Why not?”

“Because… er…” Marinette’s nervousness returned full-force. “…because we weren’t talking much at the time.”

“Why not?” Alya said again, even more keenly.

“Because we were too busy kissing,” Marinette managed.

“Whoop whoop!” cried Alya, pumping her fist enthusiastically. “You go get him, girl!”

Once, that reaction might have made Marinette slump shyly and wish to disappear. Some things had changed. Now that she was actually talking about it—now that she wasn’t hiding anymore—she was able to smile. “It was pretty awesome,” she admitted.

“What was it like?” Alya said.

“Which part?”

“Every part!” enthused Alya. “What’s kissing Adrien like? How many times have you kissed him? Where have you kissed him?”

Marinette blinked rapidly, trying to stay above water. “Where? You mean like where in the city, or where on his body?”

“Both!”

“I can’t answer all of that at once,” Marinette protested.

Alya grinned. “Then answer one-by-one,” she said, settling in. “I’ve got all night.”

* * *

Cat Noir, like Ladybug, adhered to certain minimum standards of heroism on his evening jaunts. He did pause from time to time to look and listen. He did scout out certain areas for people lingering with no legitimate purpose. He did watch a few tourists and other vulnerable populations as they made their way through the city.

He did these things in abbreviated fashion, and with a noticeable hard-on. There was no question of where he’d rather be.

At last he arrived at Marinette’s house, after most people had turned in for the night. The lights in Marinette’s parents’ room was shut, and the curtains were drawn—someone wanted their privacy. Marinette’s light, though, was on—perfect.

As Cat alighted on the roof above her window, he heard her voice. That wasn’t unusual; she was frequently talking to other people on the phone, or to Tikki. The voice that answered, though, was unnervingly present, and not Tikki.

It was with effort that Cat stabilized and kept from springing into Marinette’s bedroom. That would have been hard to explain. He had to figure out who was in there. He moved to the angle of the roof above the window and sat. He closed his eyes to focus on hearing. His ears twitched as he strained to hear.

“…so that was the first time I gave him a blowjob…”

His eyes popped back open.

“Wow, Adrien is one lucky guy! Does it really have a strong taste?”

“It does, and it’s not a good taste exactly, but… it’s not bad either, you know? It’s salty, and kinda… thick? Either way, the taste isn’t even the point. The point is that bringing him off with my mouth is all kinds of sexy, and that’s the proof. It’s not as fun as sex, but sometimes we don’t have time for that.”

“But he returns the favor, right?”

“You bet he does. Hm…”

“Don’t drift off on me, girl! You just volunteered to tell that story.”

“Did I? Well, that’s ones a bit…”

“It’s not like you’ve got anything left to hide at this point! …unless you do! Do you?”

“I-I-I suppose I can tell you about the first time he went down on me…”

Cat Noir could barely believe his ears. Marinette was spilling her sexcapades with Adrien! With him! And she was doing it with Alya! He knew those two were friends, but still…

He had to stop it. But… how? He couldn’t just waltz in there. Alya didn’t know Adrien was Cat Noir, and it would be super creepy if a super-powered stranger was sitting outside teenaged girls’ windows.

He grimaced. Ladybug was the planner of the two, though. He didn’t get as much exercise of that skill. What kind of distraction could he…

“…let me tell you: a tongue on your clit is an incredible feeling. I had no idea it could do that to me.”

Speaking of distracting… he tried to look around and come up with some plausible incident, but his attention kept getting tugged back.

“It had to be the biggest orgasm of my life.”

“Wow, even bigger than when you had sex?”

“Well, that’s different. With those, it’s like I can’t really feel where my pleasure ends and his begins—does that make sense? It’s complicated and overwhelming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s ultra-satisfying, it really is the best, but it’s all mixed up. When he’s eating me out, there isn’t anything else to think about. I can let him do the work and just concentrate on how good I’m feeling.”

“So that means he’s done it more than once?”

“You bet.”

“You’re so lucky! It’s hard to believe that he’s rich, handsome, and a super-attentive lover to boot!”

“I am the luckiest, you know that.”

Cat sighed. There was no way he would be able to come up with a plan as long as they kept talking like that. Then again, listening to the love of his life boast about his bedroom skills wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as he might have expected. In fact…

He looked down and saw his super-suit fitting his form rather too closely.

“…but how did it happen?”

“We were up on the roof…”

“The roof? How did you get up there?”

“Well… never mind that. I can’t tell all my secrets! The point is we were up there, and he came up to me from behind…”

Cat’s erection throbbed. Oh, he remembered this incident. That had been some really good sex—he’d been floating on air the rest of the day afterwards.

He wanted to hear about it again. He wanted to hear her talk about it.

 _You know,_ he thought to himself, _maybe I don’t need to interrupt. Maybe it’s okay._

He settled into a sitting position, leaned back comfortably, and closed his eyes. The better to hear his lover sing his praises.

He’d pay her back soon enough.

* * *

“Dammit, the time just got away from me,” said Alya, packing up. “I regret nothing—those were the hottest stories I’ve ever heard. You little horndog, you!” she added teasingly.

“Yeah, I guess we… er… have gotten up to a lot, haven’t we?” said Marinette. It had been easy to keep talking once she’d started. Now she was beginning to suspect she’d said a bit much. “Not that you’ll tell anyone about it, right?”

“I did promise,” said Alya. “God, that got me so hot and bothered, listening to you talk like that. If you weren’t a girl, and, you know, dating Adrien, I’d totally jump you right now.”

Marinette blinked. “Uh… thanks, I guess?”

“As it is,” Alya said, heading for the door, “I’m gonna have to go home and give Tony a workout.”

“Who’s Tony?” said Marinette, feeling increasingly adrift.

“Not ‘who’. ‘What’.” Alya gave a dirty grin that made Marinette squirm. “I’ll lock the door on my way out. See you tomorrow!”

She left. Marinette was still standing uncertainly in her own room, wondering when the night would stop getting away from her.

She’d be wondering a while longer. A hand snaked over her mouth. She didn’t bother trying to scream. Combat instinct kicked in, fired off an elbow into the gut of whomever was behind her.

Her elbow was caught by someone with superhuman strength and reflexes.

“You know,” said Cat Noir’s husky voice from behind her, “I like that you’re a girl, and I don’t mind that you’re dating Adrien, so I think I _will_ jump you.”

She stopped wanting to scream; the hand moved away from her mouth. But she didn’t relax. “How much did you hear?” she said, wincing in anticipation.

“Quite a bit. More than enough,” he said. The hand that had been over her mouth went down to a breast. Damn, but he knew how she liked him to play with those. She bit her lip as her anxiety slipped away, leaving other emotions to rise up instead. “Plagg, claws in.”

The super-suit disappeared. She felt naked flesh behind her and eeped in surprise. “You were feeling frisky even before you came here, then,” she said, “to come over naked beneath your transformation.”

“And I’m even friskier now,” he growled, grinding against her to prove his point. “I waited while you had your chat with Alya. I don’t intend to wait any longer.”

Marinette realized, at last, that her words hadn’t just affected her audience. She was dripping, too. Rolling her hips back against him, relaxing into his grasp, she said, “Then don’t wait.”

He didn’t.


	3. The Ground Vanishes

"I can't do this ad campaign the way you want," said the director of photography.

Gabriel Agreste narrowed his eyes. His most recent (and humiliatingly easy) defeat at the hands of Ladybug and Cat Noir was still galling him. And now _this_ … "Very well. When should I expect your resignation?"

The words were delivered with all the cold, clinical cutting power of a surgeon's scalpel. The director received them with a flinch. "I don't think you understand… I mean, I don't think I was clear the first time," he stammered. "What I mean is, the ads and the subject don't work like the plans suggest they should."

Gabriel tapped his fingers together. Slowly. Each impact was soft, almost inaudible. That they still reached the director's ears was a sign of how little noise there was in Gabriel's office. It was a cold, sterile room. In that way, it was a reflection of Gabriel’s appearance. With slicked-back, almost shell-like white hair, pale skin, and a wardrobe that was mostly shades of cream, Gabriel seemed skeletal.

It certainly seemed like he might be reaping the director’s career in the near future.

"This campaign is a reprise of one ran three years ago," Gabriel said—slowly, like to a child. "I didn't realize that you would find it… difficult."

"It's not too hard for me," the director protested. "I could do it. It just… wouldn't work. Not like it did then."

One more finger tap. "Explain."

The director swallowed, then reached into the folder he carried. "Here are some of the images from the old campaign," he said. "I started there, of course—it was a huge success, why wouldn't I? This shot, I thought, was especially iconic."

"I remember it quite well," said Gabriel, sparing the picture only a glance.

"We-ell… my first instinct was to reproduce the shot and see what else we could do with it, see where we could go. And the problem leapt out at me."

"A problem with my son?" Gabriel's voice was the rattling of a snake's tail.

"There'snothingwrongwithyourson," blurted the director.

" _Explain._ "

The director's face twisted as he attempted to wrangle his thoughts. "The campaign doesn't fit him anymore," he tried.

"How could it not?" Gabriel demanded.

The director gave up on words. "Just look," he said, withdrawing a second photo and putting it beside the first.

Now Gabriel was forced to look. "And?" he demanded, his eyes looking over both photos.

"This one is from three years ago," the director said, pointing. It was a famous image, one that had been all over Paris during that particular campaign. Adrien in a white shirt, extended forward like he was running, his expression one of youthful, abject joy.

"This one is the best I could get from the preliminary shoot," the director said, his finger on the second.

Gabriel couldn't fail to see what the director meant now—not with a lifetime of fashion and design work under his belt. He could see the differences between the two, differences that stood out all the more when background and wardrobe all matched. The second Adrien wasn't just older. That was to be expected, and—Gabriel grudgingly admitted—the director had the skill to overcome such trivial things. There was something more.

Adrien wasn't matching his expression from before. Oh, it looked similar enough, in strictly anatomical terms. It was the essence that didn't match. Looking at the two together was dissonance in images.

Adrien-1 was a boy, charging eagerly into the future, leaping at the chance to explore the unknown possibilities ahead. Adrien-2 knew more than that. He was no less eager—but he knew what he might find. His smile was that of someone laughing at his own joke, confident and self-assured. The innocent ignorance was gone. Something else had replaced it.

"What happened?" Gabriel murmured.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he fucks."

Gabriel's head whipped up. The director winced, but shrugged. "It's all I've got, sir. Whether he's actually doing it or not is none of my business…"

"And you will refrain from such scandalous speculation," Gabriel growled. "That's my boy you're talking about."

"…is he a boy, though? Whatever's happened, he's grown up. He's grown up enough that this campaign won't work. You've got the best eyes in the business, sir—you can _see_ it won't work."

It was true. Now that Gabriel was looking, he couldn't help but see. It was so obvious. How had this happened? When had it happened? How had he missed it?

Where had his boy gone?

Where was his boy going?

His mind was flying down many paths at once, thinking back to all the times he'd seen Adrien lately—though that was, in retrospect, a laughably small number. What did he look like in those times? What had he said or done? What clues might Gabriel have overlooked?

What had happened to his boy?

"Sir?"

The director's uncertain voice startled Gabriel from his reverie. His wrath rose up—and he contained it. His eyes shut. His breathing evened out. He had not become an industry leader by shooting messengers.

"You have done well to bring this to my attention," he said, and the director's mouth gaped at the unexpected praise. "Any further effort in this direction would have been wasted. We will have to try something else to salvage this. Reconvene with your crew—I want a new proposal in front of me by the end of the week."

"Yes, sir," said the director hurriedly, and he scampered from the room, leaving the photos behind. Had he forgotten them in his haste, Gabriel wondered, or did he have other copies and these were expendable? Either way, he was anxious to escape. Gabriel's task had been a reward disguised as a punishment… or was it the other way around? Regardless, the director was certain to profit no more by remaining.

Which was the goal, after all. Gabriel put a finger to his intercom. "Cancel my next two appointments," he said.

"As you wish, sir," was the unhesitating reply.

That left Gabriel… a little over an hour to himself. A little over an hour to contemplate, and wonder.

He grasped the photos, held them up next to each other, marveled at how they could seem so similar and be so different.

What had happened to his boy?

* * *

“Alright, another day of school ahead,” Marinette said, stifling a yawn as the building came into view. “Ready, Tikki?”

“I wish I were,” said Tikki morosely.

“What’s wrong?” asked Marinette.

“You keep ignoring me,” the kwami said. Her overlarge eyes were fully open and slightly moist. It was a piteous sight.

Marinette’s insides lurched looking at it. “About what?” she said, wracking her brains.

“About the thing you bought yesterday,” Tikki said pointedly.

“Oh,” said Marinette, grimacing. “I’m sorry, Tikki, I didn’t mean to ignore you. Honest! I meant to do it last night, but Alya took all evening, and then Adrien’s visit took me deep into the night. All that together meant I slept in this morning, so there was no time to get to it before school. I swear I’m not avoiding it on purpose.”

Tikki’s expression softened. “I think I believe you. You aren’t good at lying, after all. And Adrien did provide a pretty severe distraction.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Marinette, biting her lip at the memory.

“But you’ll get to it?”

“Promise,” Marinette said.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Promise promise. I am trying!”

Tikki nodded. “See you after school!” she said, and ducked back down into Marinette’s handbag.

Despite her fatigue, Marinette was fairly skipping on her way into her classroom. Telling Alya had taken a big burden off of her, and spending some “quality time” with Adrien always lifted her mood. She was ready for whatever the day threw at her.

That notion was shattered seconds after arriving at her classroom.

“Settling bets,” Alya was saying loudly. A large crowd surrounded her desk. “Settling bets! Form a line, please, one at a time, and have your ticket on-hand.”

“Settling… bets?” Marinette murmured, dread rising in her chest. Mylene was walking away from Alya’s desk, a ticket and some cash in her hand. Marinette caught her. “What kind of bets?” she asked of her friend.

“Oh… well…” Mylene shrank in her sight; despite her colorful clothes and loudly died hair, the girl preferred life in the background. She mustered up the will to answer. “It wasn’t supposed to be quite this big.”

“What wasn’t?”

“It… started off as just a laugh, you know, a few friends going in? But Alya made a spreadsheet and started taking bets on it, and then someone told someone else, and then Chloe got wind of it, and then everyone knew about it…”

“’Everyone knew’?” said Marinette, temper rising. “What am I, chopped liver? Knew about what?”

“There…” Mylene gulped. “There was a pool. A betting pool.”

“About. What?!”

“Half-payouts if you were within a week with your guess,” was Alya’s clarion call. “Full payouts if you were within three days!”

Horrible notions were rising in Marinette’s mind. “No,” she said.

Mylene winced. “Yeah,” she said. “It was a pool on when or if you and Adrien got together.”

Marinette’s gaze was sharp enough to cut diamond. “I see you got in on the action,” she said acidly.

“It was three to two odds,” Mylene said shyly. “I couldn’t resist.”

“But you could have done better if you’d done the math.” Kagami, cutting into the conversation, looked at Marinette and brandished a handful of bills. “If I can’t have Adrien myself, I’ll take this as compensation.”

Marinette looked at the notes and sighed. “I don’t know which is worse—that there’s a price on my love life, or that the price is so low.”

Chloe’s screech was audible from anywhere in the classroom. It might have been audible from orbit. Mylene added, “Chloe’s bet was that you two had given up on each other.”

Kagami nodded. “It was an attractive bet. Ten to one. I almost took it.”

Marinette turned on Kagami, eyes blazing. “Et tu, Kagami?”

“Hedging one’s bets is prudent,” Kagami said with a shrug. “Instead I took the bet that he’d friend-zoned you. That was eight to one. Sabrina bet that you’d friend-zoned him, but that was a sucker’s bet. I’d have needed much better odds than nine to one to take that one.”

“You’re. Not. Helping,” Marinette barked.

“At least we didn’t go in on the prop bets,” Mylene said soothingly.

“I don’t even want to know,” Marinette said, eyes now focusing on her ‘friend’. She started moving towards Alya in the steady, inexorable way a hurricane approaches a coastline. She caused almost as many evacuations: no one was eager to be between her and Alya.

Alya’s face was devoid of shame. “Good morning, Marinette!” was her chipper greeting.

“Is it, now?” Marinette growled.

“For you it is,” said Alya, quickly counting out a handful of bills. “Here’s your cut.”

Taken aback, Marinette blinked. “Wait, what?”

Alya smiled. “You didn’t think this pool was for me, did you? This should be more than enough for you and Adrien to have a nice romantic evening together.”

All around, their schoolmates started clapping. Marinette found embarrassment stacking on top of her anger. She couldn’t just smack the money out of Alya’s hand, not with all these people expecting her to be happy about it, but if she took the money it would be like telling Alya it was okay…

“What happened to ‘cross my heart and hope to die’?” she demanded.

“I kept my promise,” Alya insisted in an undertone. “I haven’t breathed a word to anyone about what you said in your room last night, and I never will. But…” her grin became devilish. “…you told me you and Adrien were together, and when, in the convenience store.”

Marinette blushed. “That’s a technicality!”

Alya shrugged innocently. “Technically correct is my favorite kind of correct. So, you gonna take the money or what?”

The expectant staring from the bystanders made Marinette’s decision for her. She took the handful of bills while trying to incinerate Alya with her glare alone. “I’m not letting you off the hook for this.”

A new voice broke in. “What is all of this?”

Caught with the money in her hand, Marinette turned, wincing. “Good morning, Miss Bustier,” she said, and though she tried to keep her voice cordial, even she could hear her nervousness.

“Is this some kind of gambling ring?” Miss Bustier said sternly, advancing on Marinette and Alya. “I won’t tolerate that sort of thing in my classroom. Gambling is a path to ruin, an awful vice, and…”

“Your winnings, ma’am,” said an unruffled Alya, holding up another handful.

“And… er, what?”

“Your prop bet went bust,” Alya said, fanning the bills in her hand so they could be seen, “but you broke even on your timing bet. Here you go.”

Marinette felt like her own embarrassment was being transplanted into her teacher. Miss Bustier flushed under all the attention, but she didn’t retreat. “Very well, then,” she said, taking the money and pocketing it in a single motion. “Everyone to your seats, we’ll begin class shortly—half of you aren’t even in my class, you all need to get to your own homerooms, now.”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped. “Even my teacher,” she moaned as a crowd jammed through the door.

Alya walked around her desk and put her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “Look at all these happy people,” she said. “Look what you did!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Marinette spluttered.

“Yes you did,” said Alya. “You’re a nice enough person that everyone knew you wouldn’t take this personally. You would be so cheered up that everyone else got to have some fun that you wouldn’t hold on to your temper.”

Marinette shot Alya a dirty look. “You are evil sometimes.”

“But with your best interests at heart,” Alya countered, patting the cash in Marinette’s hand. “And hey, look—there’s the person you can spend the money on!”

Adrien was entering the classroom, apologizing for his tardiness to Miss Bustier on his way. He had dark circles under his eyes and was sagging some, but he looked anything but sad.

“Hm,” said Alya, “he looks like he didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Not surprised,” said Marinette without thinking.

“Oh?” said Alya keenly. “Why not? You and lover-boy get up to something?”

Marinette froze in panic, but she was spared having to answer because a bigger ruckus had erupted. Books from Chloe’s backpack had spilled, not onto Adrien’s desk, but onto his head. “I’m… sorry… Adri-kins,” said Chloe between clenched teeth, punctuating each word with a shake of her backpack as she emptied it over Adrien. “I’m… just… so… clumsy!”

“Miss Bourgeois!” said Miss Bustier with surprise. “What are you doing?”

“That’s a great question,” Chloe answered, hysteria in her voice. “What am I doing? What have I been doing the past few years?! It’s a wonderful question!” Her head snapped at Marinette with murderous intent.

“It’s alright, Miss Bustier,” said Adrien, gathering some of the books and raising them in Chloe’s direction. “Here you go, Chloe.”

Marinette saw immediately that this was the wrong thing for Adrien to do. In the past—as late as yesterday—Chloe would have interpreted this gesture as favor, affection, even tenderness. Today she saw it as patronizing, almost mocking charity. Today it felt like defeat.

Shrieking, Chloe fled the classroom. Sabrina looked for a moment as if she would follow, but she stopped at the last moment and returned to her seat.

Without missing a beat, Alya clicked a stopwatch. Marinette frowned. “What’s that for?” she asked her friend.

“Just seeing how long until Chloe gets akumatized,” Alya replied. “I have a feeling we might set a record today.”

Marinette hid her face in her palm.

* * *

"Adrien, dinner," called Nathalie.

"I'll take it upstairs again," said Adrien as he headed that direction.

"Actually… your father has requested your presence in the dining room."

"Which one?" Adrien joked.

Nathalie’s answer was a humorless stare.

Adrien shrugged it off. "I guess I should be flattered. This is… what, the second time this month? That's a modern-day record." Changing directions, and ignoring the new sharpness in Nathalie's glare, he mosied his way towards the main dining room.

Gabriel was already there, and already being served. "Good evening, son," he said in his usual clipped tones. "Please join me."

"Of course, father," Adrien said automatically. Gabriel was sitting at the head of the table; following protocol, Adrien sat at the foot.

Six empty seats per side of the table stood between father and son. Adrien found it rather less than intimate. He felt the urge to move up the table, to sit closer… but wouldn’t that just get him scolded for impropriety?

Frozen by indecision, he stayed where he was, and looked to his food.

Gabriel paused after his first bite, and spent several long seconds watching Adrien. Adrien noticed this, but chose to ignore it, focusing on his salad. "Son," Gabriel said, breaking the silence, "is there anything you want to talk about?"

Adrien's head snapped up. Normally it would be Gabriel setting the agenda of any conversation. Leaving it open-ended like this was… different. "I’d love to," he said, slowly as the thoughts came to him, "but… I have a hard time knowing what we can talk about."

Gabriel's expression sharpened. "You're not hiding anything, are you?"

_If only you knew._ Adrien took a sip of his water glass to collect himself and avoid blurting out his instinctive answer. "No, it's just that we haven't actually talked in so long, I don't know how."

"You talk to people at that 'school' of yours, don't you?" Gabriel said, and his dislike was audible.

"I know them, father," Adrien said, rising to the bait. "I know how to talk to them. But you? When's the last time _we_ talked? Like, actually talked. I don't know what interests you. I don't know what you like to hear about. I don't know what to avoid because it bores you.

"I know how to talk to people. I don't know how to talk to _you_."

His father frowned. Adrien’s words echoed. He liked them less and less the longer they were the last ones. “But I want to learn,” he added.

His father, still frowning, returned his attention to his salad. Adrien’s shoulders slumped. _Thanks for proving my point, dad_.

For several minutes the only sound was the clinking of forks. Right on time the server returned, whisking away the salad plates and replacing them with bowls of soup. Adrien, as was his wont, took a deep sniff of it, sighed in happy appreciation, and took a quick spoonful.

Which almost burned him.

"Whoa, that was hotter than I expected," he said, blowing on the soup.

"What?" said Gabriel, distantly.

Adrien glanced up. He had his father's full attention again. _Twice in one night. A new modern-day record…_ "I was just saying, the soup came out hotter than I expected," Adrien said, contriving to chuckle. "Caught me off-guard, is all."

Gabriel took a spoonful of his own soup, and nodded. "It's hot, but no more than usual."

"Well, I suppose it's because I normally eat upstairs. I guess it's usually cooled off some by the time it gets to me. Tonight I'm getting it right out of the kitchen."

His father considered this over another few swallows. "This is the temperature I normally get it at," he explained, "but… I sometimes have it stone-cold. There are times when I'm… delayed. Working on a project or a plan. Those times, it has a chance to grow cold before I get to it."

Adrien wanted to shout, "It's almost like things are still happening when you're not paying attention". He didn't. He managed a mumble of something agreement-ish.

"I do think it's better this temperature," Gabriel went on. There was silence for a beat, then, "Would you like to eat here more often?"

Adrien could see a touch of uncertainty in his father's face. It wasn't a plea, but it was more than a question. "I dunno," he said with a shrug. "Maybe?"

"That's… vague."

Adrien laughed. "Listen to us! It's like we're having a real conversation."

Gabriel flushed. The contrast was stark on his pale face. "There's no need for a mocking tongue at this table."

Adrien’s gaze dropped to his bowl. He was finally getting some time with his father, and all he was doing was making his father mad. He was screwing everything up. "It wasn't sarcasm," he said apologetically.

"Be more careful, then."

"Yes, father."

And there it was. Adrien saw himself falling back to the old patterns. _Submit because it's easier. Do what he says because you can't win a fight. Let his crankiness set the rules._ Those had been the keys to a quiet life in the Agreste household for as long as Adrien could remember.

But what use did he have for a quiet life?

Was this really all his father wanted—a chance to be angry at him?

How would Marinette handle this?

Ah… pleasant thoughts of his lover filled him up and settled his mind. He felt himself calming. He could get through this, as long as she was with him.

Dinner slipped by in silence as the fish took the place of the soup and the meat took the place of the fish and, eventually, coffee and dessert took the place of the meat.

"Thank you," Adrien said to the server as his cup was filled.

"What? No," said Gabriel belatedly. "It's too late at night for a child to have coffee."

The server hesitated. Adrien didn't. "I've been having it off and on with dinner for the past three years," he said coolly. Thoughts of Marinette were escaping him. Temper rose in their place. "The past six months I've been drinking it with dinner almost every night."

Gabriel wouldn’t yield. "It isn't good for young bodies. It especially isn't good if it interferes with your sleep. I won't allow it."

The server, knowing who signed his checks, backed away. "But you were fine with it all these other times?" Adrien snapped.

Gabriel's voice was unrepentant. "I would have put a stop to it earlier if I had known."

Adrien lost his patience. "So that's what this dinner was for, huh? To check if I was doing anything you didn't approve?"

"Is there?" Gabriel said. His voice was a blade leaving its scabbard. "Or should I say, Is there anything _more_?"

Adrien, with trained elegance out of step with his emotions, removed his napkin and placed it on the table. "On second thought," he said, eyes never leaving his father's, "I think I'll pass on dessert. I seem to have lost my appetite."

Gabriel scowled at him. "We're not through talking."

"Oh, I think we are," Adrien said as he rose. "I can't think of anything, at all, I want to talk to you about."

"You disappoint me, Adrien."

For most of his life, those words would have brought Adrien to his knees. They still hurt—but he could bear that pain. "I haven't even begun to disappoint you," he promised.

He left, arms tight to his sides, anger sloshing caustically in his gut.

* * *

“Good night, mom!” said Marinette as she went for the stairs.

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Sure did,” Marinette replied. “Have fun watching your show!”

Her mom’s voice followed her up the stairs-- “Don’t stay up too late!”—but Marinette wasn’t bothered by it. She knew how much sleep she needed. She knew just as well how late she could stay up, and what she could do with the time.

It was a red night—her night to go on ‘patrol’. Her night to do a cursory look for criminal activity before ‘happening’ to drop by her lover’s bedroom.

Life was good.

But first… as she finished putting things away in her room, she took up the bag of her purchases from the day before, and walked for the bathroom.

“You’re finally checking, then?” said Tikki.

“You’d give me a hard time if I asked to transform after blowing you off again,” Marinette said lightly.

“I’m trying not to nag,” Tikki said apologetically. “I just think it’s important to check.”

“Well, I’ll indulge you,” said Marinette, shutting the door and opening the box. She read the instructions, took out the plastic stick from the box, and put it to use.

Minutes ticked by. “This is taking longer than I expected,” Marinette said, re-reading the box with a frown. “Shouldn’t I be seeing something by now?”

Tikki was reading the box right along with Marinette. “It says it can take longer depending on—oh, oh, I see something!”

Both sets of eyes went to the small viewing window on the end of the plastic stick. There was, indeed, a shape slowly becoming visible.

“Okay, I think I see,“ Marinette said peering closely. “And that means…”

Her eyes went to the box, reading the instructions again. She looked back at the stick. Her eyes popped open. She looked at the box again, to ensure she hadn’t misread, then at the stick again, to ensure she hadn’t mistaken the shape. The box again. The stick again. The box. The stick.

“That’s—not…”

“Congratulations, Marinette!” Tikki looked up at her host with a rapturous expression. “According to this—you’re pregnant!”

* * *

_Next time: The Biological Imperative_


	4. The Biological Imperative

“Pregnant?” Marinette whispered.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Tikki said, doing loop-de-loops in the air. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Happy? Happy?!” said Marinette, almost hysterical.

“Of course!” said Tikki, evening out her flight enough to meet Marinette’s eyes. “I’m the Kwami of Creation, after all. This sort of thing delights me!”

“… ‘of creation’?” said Marinette. It was hard to speak, let alone think; everything in her head seemed to have turned to mush. “Kwami of Creation, and you like…”

“Babies of all kinds,” Tikki said, nodding. “And all manner of growth, plant and animal alike.”

Marinette blinked rapidly. “You mean I’ve been bonded with a _fertility goddess_?”

“That’s a term they used in some of the old mythologies, sure,” Tikki allowed.

“And you’ve been with or around me every time I had sex with Adrien,” Marinette said.

“Probably. We haven’t been apart much, and you and he have had rather a lot of sex.”

“No we haven’t!” Marinette protested. “We’ve only had sex a few times!”

Tikki fixed her human with a “don’t make me call ‘bullshit’” look.

It worked. Marinette winced, and amended, “I meant a few times a month.”

The look remained.

“A few times a week?”

The look intensified.

Marinette hid her face behind her hands. “Okay, fine, we’ve been fucking like rabbits every chance we’ve gotten.”

“Not like rabbits,” Tikki corrected. “Trust me, I’d know. Rabbits only mate when they’re in-season. They’re just in-season a lot. You and Adrien, on the other hand, have been mating all the time, usually when you’re not in-season. Although,” and Tikki almost glowed with her happiness, “apparently, you mated while you were in-season, too!”

“And you had something to do with that, I’m guessing?” Marinette said accusatorily.

“Of course not. I can’t make people get pregnant. I will say,” she said, becoming thoughtful, “my aura does up the odds of conception for those around me. And my presence alone defeats most birth control.”

“Kwami of Creation indeed.” Marinette tugged hard on her hair, as if the pain would bring reality back. “So I’ve been humping my boyfriend like a madwoman while carrying around my own personal fertility aid.”

“You got it!” Tikki enthused.

“I didn’t—this isn’t…” Overwhelmed, Marinette rose, and moved out of the bathroom. How she found her way back to her bed, she would never know; she didn’t see anything but the stick. Nothing else entered her vision. Tikki restrained herself while Marinette returned to familiar territory.

Could anywhere be considered familiar now, though? The world had shifted out from under her.

“Oh, but this is wonderful!” said Tikki. “I know you’re feeling fear, and terror, and disbelief, and regret, and shame, and denial, and anger, and sorrow, and embarrassment, but believe me—it really isn’t that bad!”

“Great! That makes me feel much better!” Marinette flopped on to her back. “Ugh, just akumatize me now!”

“Well, that won’t happen,” Tikki said mildly. “I’ll see to that.”

Marinette frowned. “Huh?”

Tikki didn’t explain. When Marinette looked up, she saw that the tiny creature had crossed her arms before her and closed her eyes. She seemed to be concentrating intensely. Marinette could make out a dim halo forming around her.

The halo rushed outwards and vanished from sight. Tikki’s eyes and mouth burst open, then curled into a smile-ish shape as her form trembled. “Oooh,” she cooed.

Marinette watched her kwami with confusion and suspicion. “I thought you said kwamis don’t have sex,” she said.

“Hm?” replied Tikki languorously. “Oh… that’s right, we don’t.”

“You sure look like you just orgasmed,” Marinette accused.

“I wouldn’t know about that. I will say, it is a pretty satisfying power to use. But,” she added as she drooped, “it takes a lot out of me.”

Marinette let her head hit the pillow. She was so up in her own feelings she had no attention or sympathy to spare for Tikki. “I can imagine—whoa! What are you doing?”

“Borrowing a little,” said the kwami in slurred tones. Tikki was nuzzling up alongside Marinette’s neck. The area felt cold to Marinette, and the girl found herself feeling instantly more tired. It was like whatever will to stay awake she’d had was vanishing. Or, maybe, being absorbed by a kwami who had wrung herself dry.

“A little… what?” Marinette managed, even as her eyelids fluttered and drooped.

Tikki yawned. “Tell you… in the morning…”

“…sure…”

* * *

"Come, Nooroo," said Gabriel.

"Um… master…?"

"I said 'come'," Gabriel said sternly.

"…yes, master," was the unenthusiastic reply.

Well, it didn't matter how much the kwami liked its lot as long as it obeyed. Gabriel had operated on that principle for years. He walked to the front of his observatory.

Ah… but what of _his_ enthusiasm?

It hurt to say, but: losing multiple battles a week for three years solid was a downer. Some of the battles had been close; others, not so much. Of late, the not-close battles were more and more common.

He'd known going in that the kwamis of creation and destruction were the strongest. He'd counted on their inexperience and his greater understanding and command of his powers to give him the edge. Now that edge was gone. He was further from gaining those objects of his desire than he'd ever been.

His newer pawns couldn't even force Ladybug and Cat Noir to use their special powers. They were losing in simple hand-to-hand without doing… well, anything.

For months it had been aggravating. After that it had been enraging. Then it had been disappointing. Now… now it just made him despair.

Add on top of that this business with his son, who suddenly seemed intent on driving Gabriel to fits. Anger and confusion on top of despair! It was so distracting he wondered if he’d have enough focus to do Hawk Moth properly.

…As if “doing Hawk Moth properly” had done him much good thus far.

Maybe he should try akumatizing himself again. He certainly had enough negative emotions for the task. _If you want something done right…_

No, there was too much risk there. He had to find something, some way to change the playing field, some way to strike at the people behind the masks… and he wouldn't find that as Gabriel Agreste.

"Nooroo, dark wings rise!"

Silence.

Nothing.

Emptiness.

"…um… master?"

"Where is my rush of power?!" Gabriel demanded, whirling. "Where's my transformation and my surge of strength? Where is it, creature?!"

"I can't!" squeaked the terrified kwami, raising a limb before its face as if to shield itself from Gabriel's wrath. As if that would do anything!

Gabriel snatched the being out of mid-air, clenched it hard in his fist. "Have you forgotten that I am your master?"

"No, sir!" gasped Nooroo.

"Do you think you can just choose not to serve me?"

"No, sir!"

"Do you believe you can get away with defiance?"

"No, sir!"

"Then transform me!"

"I can't!" the kwami all-but-sobbed.

Gabriel paused, the creature's reaction taking the edge off his temper. "This isn't just foolish disobedience, then," he growled.

"No, master, I tried to tell you…" Nooroo managed.

"Tried to tell me what?" said Gabriel, forcing himself to collect, to focus, to think. Other people were ruled by their passions, that was his great weapon. He would not allow that weapon to cut him. Think, dammit!

"Tikki has invoked the… the Biological Imperative," Nooroo said.

Gabriel shook his head. "I've read the Grimoire of the Miraculous, I know the kwamis, there's no such thing."

"With utmost respect, master," Nooroo said, tentatively, "th-the Grimoire… well, it was written by _men_. So… they didn't think of everything, and they didn't know all the secrets."

"What difference would that make? What is this 'biological imperative'?"

Nooroo nodded pleadingly. "I'll tell you of course, master, but could you please release me first?"

In his frustration Gabriel almost said no. After a long moment, he decided using the source of his powers as a stress ball was not a good plan. He gave a bit of a shove as he released his grip, sending the kwami tumbling through the air. "Well?" he demanded.

Nooroo regained its steadiness, then looked up at Gabriel, more sure of itself. "The Biological Imperative is the secret power of the Kwami of Creation," it began.

"I thought Lucky Charm and Miraculous Ladybugs were the powers of that kwami," said Gabriel, his eyes narrowing.

"Technically, those are the powers of Ladybug," said Nooroo delicately, trying not to sound too correcting. "Ladybug is the hero formed by kwami and human together. This is a power of the kwami itself."

"Does that mean Ladybug no longer has her kwami?" said Gabriel sharply. That would be an opening if it were true!

"No, master," said Nooroo, and it looked like it recognized it was dashing Gabriel's hopes by saying so. "Kwami powers are unstable on their own, which is why we bond with humans, but we can still act ourselves. How much depends upon the kwami and the nature of our powers. It doesn't mean the Kwami of Creation is on its own now. Ladybug still has Tikki."

"But how do you know?" demanded Gabriel.

"Because of what the Biological Imperative does, and why," said Nooroo. "It prevents all kwamis from activating."

Gabriel blinked. "What do you mean, 'prevents'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, master. I can't transform you—or anyone. No kwami can. We can't use any solo powers either. This is part of what we mean when we say the Kwami of Creation is the strongest. In a world of created things, we're in her dominion, so she has power over us."

Gabriel ground his teeth together. "So you're useless, is that it?"

He'd expected the kwami to recoil in fear, like his director of photography had when faced with Gabriel's wrath. Instead, it looked, if anything… hurt. Stung. "I've done my best to serve you all these years," it said with a wounded voice. "And I will continue to do so. I still have more information—such as why Tikki would invoke the Imperative."

Breathing heavily to process his anger, Gabriel nodded. "Go on."

Nooroo took a moment to gage his master, then, emboldened, continued. "It's a failsafe. If the kwamis are on the same side, there's no need for it. If the kwamis are split, and some are in opposing hands, then the Imperative shuts us all down to limit the damage until things are resolved."

"If the Kwami of Creation could do that all along, why hasn't it?" demanded Gabriel.

"Because, in most circumstances, it's believed that the…" Nooroo hesitated, then spoke in a rush. "Please understand that when I say 'good' and 'evil', it's not a judgement on you, okay? It's strictly from the perspective of the Kwami of Creation."

"I use the term ‘evilize’," said Gabriel. “I have no illusions about what I do.”

"Well, there are more kwamis on the good side than the evil," said Nooroo, hastening to add, "as far as _she_ thinks. So, in her mind, the total good that the good kwamis can do is more than the damage the evil ones can do, so letting all the kwamis stay active is a net good."

"So the Kwami of Creation would only invoke the Imperative if that balance was disrupted," Gabriel said, cottoning on. "If it thought the 'good' kwamis didn't have enough power to hold the line."

"Yes, you see now, master," said Nooroo.

"But what would take one of the kwamis out of action?" Gabriel asked.

"Pregnancy."

Gabriel heard the word. It just didn't register. "What?"

"The human Ladybug must be pregnant," said Nooroo patiently. "Tikki doesn't take chances with things like that. She has very strong feelings about maternity leave."

Gabriel shook his head, as if trying to shake the thoughts into a proper order. "Let me get this straight," he growled. "The Kwami of Creation has disabled all kwami powers just so Ladybug doesn't have to transform while she's pregnant?"

"I'm certain that's it," said Nooroo. "It's happened before. It was the same thing each time. Tikki wanted to ensure her Ladybug could have a healthy, uninterrupted pregnancy, without any other Miraculous holders threatening her and forcing her to transform."

"That's… absurd."

It was the only word Gabriel could conjure up. His fists were shaking at his sides with his anger. "You're saying I have to put my plans on hold… because a pitiful creature of magic… wanted to protect her slut host?"

"I don't know if I'd describe Ladybug like that," said Nooroo, "I don't know her, but that is the shape of it, master, you've got it."

"And there's nothing you can do about it?" Gabriel demanded.

Nooroo shied away. "It's Tikki's world, master. I just live in it."

"More delays," Gabriel snarled. "Another nine months before I can even begin to move forward!"

"Eight, master," Nooroo offered.

"Don't pretend to understand humans," Gabriel said with a sneer. "Human pregnancies are nine months long."

"But she wouldn't know she was pregnant at first," Nooroo pointed out. "That would take at least a month. Maybe more! So it's really eight months or less before the Imperative lifts. Compared to the years we've spent together so far, that's not much, is it, master?"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"Y-yes?"

"Stop it."

"Yes, master."

Gabriel closed his eyes. "Ten minutes ago I was frustrated that my plans weren't coming to fruition as I'd hoped. It was agony. Now I'm being told I can't pursue them at all… and that's so much worse."

He reached for his pockets, withdrew a phone, raised it to his face. "Nathalie. Get over here."

* * *

Everything was a blur.

The traffic and crowds on her walk to school slipped by without Marinette truly noticing them. Classmates came and went, never registering. Friends tried to strike up conversations; she could offer naught but brainless platitudes, and they soon drifted away.

Maybe one word in ten from her teachers got through to her, and no sentences or ideas. She must have had lunch, but she had no recall of what she'd eaten.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that small stick of plastic and that incredible, unbearable plus sign.

Nothing else was real in her world. Nothing else existed.

But even that couldn't be real. Could it? No way. She'd hallucinated it, along with that impossible conversation with Tikki. Whoever heard of a ‘biological imperative’, anyway?

She'd just have to prove it to herself, then.

* * *

Nathalie composed herself as she rode the elevator. She was out of breath so easily these days—even the slightest efforts left her gasping. It wouldn't do for Gabriel to see her like this. He had enough on his mind, had enough to worry about, without her health weighing on him.

She had schooled her features into alert neutrality by the time she entered Gabriel's sanctum. "You called, sir?" she said, advancing to him.

He was looking out of his observatory with his typical thousand-yard-stare. There was a tension in his figure, though, a tension she saw in his shoulders and hands and jaw. He was volatile. Upset. Best to tread carefully.

He turned to her, motions crisp. "Transform for me," he said with neither preamble nor explanation.

She paused a moment, part in surprise, part to let him explain. He didn't, merely standing expectantly. Anxiously. It made her nervous in turn. "As you wish, sir," she said. "Duusu, spread my feathers!"

Duusu emerged and floated around her. "No can do, ma'am, sorry!"

Her eyes popped open as panic jolted her. "What?" she said. She tried, but failed, to keep her eyes from darting to Gabriel. He was already turning away in disgust. It sent her heart sinking towards her feet.

Duusu floated in front of her face, breaking up her line of sight. "It's the Biological Imperative, ma'am. I can't do anything while that's going."

"The _what_?"

"I told you about that, master," said Nooroo to Gabriel reproachfully. "Did you not believe me?"

"Silence, Nooroo," spat Gabriel, with a temper Nathalie felt from where she stood. "Explain it all to Nathalie, but do so away from me. I have no patience to hear it again."

"Yes, master," Nooroo said, bowing submissively. Gabriel strode away, closer to the limits of the observatory. The tension was higher in him than ever, his gaze even more distant. Nathalie yearned to do something, to bring him some peace—but if she couldn’t even transform on demand, if she couldn’t do the slightest thing he asked, what could…

"Mistress?"

With effort, Nathalie looked away from Gabriel. "Yes?"

"Are you ready to learn about the Biological Imperative?"

“Oh, yeah! You’ll want to hear this!” said Duusu, swooping and swerving through the air around Nathalie. Gabriel apparently thought Duusu a little too erratic to do any proper explaining, and Nathalie was inclined to agree.

She looked at Nooroo and repeated the kwami’s words. “The Biological...?” She pursed her lips. "Sounds… goopy."

"Not exactly. The goopiness happens before."

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"You see,” Duusu interrupted gleefully, “when a Ladybug loves someone _very much_ …"

* * *

The checkout clerk looked familiar. Marinette had just enough presence of mind to recognize her as the same clerk she'd bought the first test from. The clerk gave her a sympathetic, too-understanding look as Marinette purchased a second test. Marinette wanted to snap at her, but her vocal cords didn't seem to be working.

She returned home with the same ephemeral air with which she'd floated through school, but with more speed. A few grunts saw her bypass her family on her way upstairs. She went directly to the upstairs bathroom.

A few minutes later she had the test in her hand.

A plus sign.

She clutched the test, staring at it. It was the realest thing in the world.

"So… I actually am pregnant," she said, barely believing it.

"Well, I didn't invoke the Imperative for nothing!"

Marinette gave a short shriek and fell off the pot. "Tikki! Don't do that!"

"Sorry," eeped the kwami. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I feel like anything would startle me right now," said Marinette, shaking her head as she recovered her seat. "I… this is really strange for me, Tikki, really hard. This isn't how I'd thought my life would go. I'm still a teenager! I'm still in high school!"

"You won't be by the time you give birth," said Tikki reasonably.

"That doesn't help like you think it does," Marinette said, hanging her head.

"What's the big deal?" Tikki asked. "I've had Ladybugs get pregnant younger than you. Why, back in medieval times…"

"Ah-ah-ah, don't tell me!" Marinette interrupted. "I don't need to know about all the other Ladybugs who got pregnant." She stared again at the test, as if she could will it to read differently. A new thought occurred to her. "Actually… How many of your earlier Ladybugs got pregnant?"

"All of them."

Marinette fixed her kwami with a stare. Tikki didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed; she just shrugged and said, "Call it an occupational hazard of being Ladybug."

"Master Fu didn't mention anything about this," Marinette grumbled.

"He wouldn't. He's a, well, a he."

"You don't say."

"Anyway, Master Fu had nothing to do with you and Adrien getting together. Don't blame him."

"I'm not blaming anyone," said Marinette.

"Then what are you doing?"

Marinette closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "I'm doing my homework," she said. "I am still a student, after all. When I'm done with that, I'll start thinking of what the next step might be."

"Good for you!" Tikki cheered. "You're taking this a lot better than my 13th century Ladybug did."

" _Please_ don't tell me how young she was when she got pregnant," Marinette pleaded.

"Okay," Tikki allowed graciously. "But your experience would be different anyway. You have more resources than those Ladybugs did. A lot more help and medical care, and much better nutrition. You'll be fine!"

"You're not helping!"

The kwami cocked her head. "Then… what's the problem?"

"I'm too young for this," Marinette said quietly. "I'm not ready. I have too much else going on. This… this isn't how it was supposed to go!"

Mercifully, Tikki kept silent at this.

"My dad will have a fit," she went on. "I don't know how I'm going to finish exams between bouts of morning sickness. I'll be a social outcast at school. Everything I was worried about with me and Adrien getting together? It'll be ten times worse when people know I'm pregnant by him.”

“Except no one will be getting akumatized, so it’ll work out,” said Tikki. “That reminds me-- I do owe you one apology.”

Marinette frowned suspiciously. “What for?”

“’Flutter’ isn’t the collective noun for moths,” Tikki said. “I used your internet to check. Flutter is for butterflies. ‘Eclipse’ is for moths.”

Marinette blinked disbelievingly. “ _That’s_ what you choose to apologize for?”

“What else would I apologize for?” Tikki said, without even a hint of duplicity.

Marinette just shook her head. “Fuck me. What will Adrien think?"

"You probably won't have to worry about that," Tikki said knowingly, but the words didn't touch Marinette.

"What will… oh no. What will Adrien's _father_ think? He'll probably think I'm some sort of gold digger!"

"Weren't you working on a plan for him? On how you were going to have him accept your relationship with Adrien?"

"That wasn't a plan," Marinette said, "that was a… well… more a feeling than anything else."

"You're at your best when you trust your feelings," Tikki said encouragingly.

Marinette glared at the kwami. "Trusting my feelings is how I got pregnant," she deadpanned.

"I know!" squealed Tikki, clapping in delight.

Marinette hung her head. "I guess there's no way a fertility goddess would have misgivings about babies."

"Nope!"

"You're not helping."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. So Close, and Yet...

Miss Bustier slammed her hands down on her desk. "The next phone I see is mine," she declared.

Half the class shifted with varying degrees of subtlety. Alya hid her phone discretely and smoothly enough Miss Bustier almost missed it. Chloe tossed her head haughtily, and put her phone in her pocket with brazen openness. Lila managed to imply she was taking her phone back from someone else.

Miss Bustier didn’t know who’d come up with this “alternate learning plan”, where teachers moved up grades along with their students, nor did she know how she’d been picked to pilot the program. She sincerely wished she hadn’t. It had its upsides, she was sure, but she was _so_ done with it. As much as she loved these kids, she was sick of their shit.

She wondered if this was how parents felt all the time.

"Not only that," Miss Bustier went on, "but the next time I see someone with their phone out, I will confiscate it… and read aloud the last ten text messages sent and received."

"You can't!" blurted out several students.

"I can, and I will," said Miss Bustier unwaveringly. "This non-stop gossip and drama has to stop." She sighed. "Or at least pause, once in a while. We have end-of-term exams coming up! You want to do your very best!"

Chloe stuck her nose up. "What do I care about end-of-term exams? I've already been accepted to my choice of college."

"If you're so sure that you think class time is social time," Miss Bustier said, voice lowering, "then we'll make this a special social time for you. Phone."

"What? No!" Chloe protested, not looking so arrogant now.

Miss Bustier extended her hand. "Phone," she repeated.

Face scrunched up unpleasantly, Chloe complied.

"Let's see," said Miss Bustier, looking at recent messages. "’From Sabrina to Chloe: Just how much did you lose on that bet, anyway?’" That earned a few laughs. Chloe's face was flushed; Sabrina was fixed as if petrified. "’From Chloe to Sabrina: a lot! I was sure there was no way that nobody and Adri-’—oh."

Miss Bustier had read just enough ahead to stop in time. Chloe’s suggestion about what Marinette and Adrien were doing was _not_ school-appropriate.

"Ahem. ‘From Sabrina to Chloe: I know, right?’ ‘From Chloe to Sabrina…’ nope, not gonna read that one either." More laughs. The punishment was having an effect on Chloe, to be sure, but Miss Bustier was beginning to regret it all the same. She had not reckoned with the content of the texts when she made her threat to read them.

She'd committed to the bit, though. Frowning, she scrolled down a touch. "’From Chloe to Sabrina: And with the odds in play, I bet enough money that a win would have bankrupted that little—'"

Now it was Miss Bustier's turn to blush. She hadn't heard _that_ phrase since her own college days. Chloe's pale face had gone scarlet. Alya seemed, if anything, disappointed, like she'd really wanted to know exactly what Chloe had said about her.

Miss Bustier's eyes scanned ahead. Her eyes grew wider with every line she read. Swallowing hard, she decided that nothing else in this thread was worth sharing. She swiped over to another exchange. “’From Daddy-kins to Chloe: I love you! From Chloe to Daddy-kins: I know you do.’"

The class laughed harder. Knowing she hadn't quite read ten, but feeling she'd made her point, Miss Bustier brought the phone back to Chloe. Chloe was trembling. “I used to think I liked you,” the nouveau-riche princess said in a quiet, deadly voice, "But now? You'll be living off the streets by the end of term.”

"If it means everyone passes, I'll cope," Miss Bustier replied coolly. "I hope everyone realizes that this could have been any number of you," she said to the class at large. All laughter ceased. "This is an important time in your lives! I know your social lives are important to you right now, but nothing you're doing at this moment will have a bigger impact on the rest of your lives than these exams!"

This sobered most of the class—but not all. Before Miss Bustier's eyes, Marinette seemed to shrivel, crumpling up as if she hoped to shrink out of sight. It had the opposite effect. Most of the class turned to look at her quizzically.

Adrien didn't; his earnest head was nodding in agreement with Miss Bustier. Which, she realized, was weird, because he (even more than Chloe) actually _could_ afford to blow off the exams and not suffer for it.

"Let's continue," she said, and the rest of the lesson continued without incident. Oh, a few more students used their phones, but it was infrequent enough that Miss Bustier was willing to let it slide. She wasn’t up for spending the whole class policing phone usage.

She was just glad none of the students had made any “senioritis” jokes at her.

As the class ended and students started to go their separate ways, she strolled by Marinette's desk. "Could you stay after for a word?" she asked.

Guilt dominated Marinette's expression. "How did—" she began, before checking herself and swallowing. "Yes ma'am."

"Don't forget we're meeting later!" called several of Marinette's friends.

"Right, right," the girl answered vaguely, before presenting herself before the teacher. "Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"You've seemed a bit out of things the past few days," Miss Bustier said.

"Have I?" Marinette squeaked.

"You've been distractible, you're behind in your work, and on some of your quizzes your writing just trails off. It's like you stopped paying attention midway through writing your answer."

Marinette squirmed. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'll try to do better."

Miss Bustier sighed. "I didn't keep you after to criticize you. All of this is happening for a reason, I'm sure. You've been an excellent student as long as I've known you. Something else is on your mind."

There it was again—that flush of guilt, that tightening up as if trying to hide. Marinette, Miss Bustier decided, was probably awful at poker.

"It's all this gambling business, isn't it?" Miss Bustier said quietly. "It's so hard with your private life being made public, hm?"

"No, that's not…" Marinette began, before she jerked, and a painful-looking smile grew on her face. "I mean, yeah, that's the reason! You got it, Miss Bustier!"

Miss Bustier raised an eyebrow. Marinette's words were saying one thing; her tone and expression were saying the opposite. "Did I?"

"You sure did!" Marinette agreed in the same forced tones as before. "It's just this, this public stuff, and the bets everyone knew about but me, and the fact that my best friend was behind it and I don't know how to deal with that, well it's all… distracting, you know?"

Miss Bustier's other eyebrow went up. "I suppose I do."

"So I'll… try harder to work past that!"

"I hope so," said Miss Bustier to the cloud of dust Marinette left behind.

* * *

"Hey," said Adrien.

"Ack!" said Marinette, half-jumping in surprise.

Adrien chuckled. "Sorry about that," he said as he came to her side. "You really didn't see me when you came out the door, huh?"

She managed a weak smile. "Well, Miss Bustier did say I've been distractible."

"But I've got your focus now, right?" he said suavely, and for a moment, Marinette saw some of his Cat Noir persona bleeding into his Adrien alter ego.

This time her smile was real. "You know, you remind me of someone. A real charmer, that one."

"The kind to sweep you off your feet?"

"Or at least hold hands with me."

His grasp found hers. "I'm good with that."

Click. Click.

Click-click-click-click-click—

"Oh, seriously?!" Marinette shouted, stamping her foot. All around her and Adrien, classmates, schoolmates, and random passers-by were taking pictures.

Adrien laughed. "Let 'em look," he said. "I don't mind."

"You're used to being in front of cameras," she pointed out as she felt her cheeks burning with a blush.

"Or maybe being with you burned my shyness away,” he said, giving her a more intense look. “Maybe I want everyone to know we're together."

"Including your father?" she asked in libido-killing tones.

He faltered; before he could speak again, he heard Nathalie's call. "Adrien! Come along, Adrien!" His father's assistant was, as usual, standing outside the limo waiting for him curbside.

"In a moment," he shouted over to her, before his eyes returned to Marinette. "Wanna come with me?"

"To the car," she assented. "I don't think Nathalie would agree to me coming along… wherever you're going next."

"Fencing," Adrien said. "But that far is good enough for now. Actually…" his voice pitched as they started walking, still holding hands; their classmates made room for them. "Yesterday was a red night, wasn't it?"

Marinette's blush became, if anything, deeper still. Even using euphemisms, she was hesitant to talk about their liaisons. She thought their color-based codeword scheme was, well, a bit obvious. "I got distracted, sorry," she said.

"Must have been some distraction," he said, sounding impressed. "But don't worry. I won't get distracted."

It was a promise, a promise made in hushed tones rich with subtext.

A promise that made her weak in the knees.

A promise she knew he wouldn't be able to keep.

"But… it won't…" she tried, but they were close enough to the limo for Nathalie to open the door for Adrien.

"You're running late," she said sternly, giving a disapproving glance at Marinette.

Adrien gave her hand one last squeeze before disengaging. "I'm sorry," he said, meekly enough that Marinette did a double-take. Whatever Cat Noir had risen up in Adrien while he was talking with her, it was gone now. "But I'm sure we'll still be on time," he added.

"You should hope so," said Nathalie, standing aside while Adrien climbed into the limo. "Otherwise," she said, speaking to Adrien but looking critically at Marinette, "your father will hear of it."

The words rooted Marinette to the spot. Any ideas she might have had about trying to explain to Adrien, with whatever sideways-words or codes she could devise under pressure, vanished.

Soon, too, the limo had vanished.

Marinette had never gotten to tell Adrien about the Imperative. Tonight was a black night. That meant he'd be expecting to transform to go on "patrol". He wouldn't be able to. And when he couldn't, he'd ask Plagg why not.

And Plagg would explain.

Adrien was going to learn he'd fathered a child from the _asshole kwami_.

Things couldn't get worse.

"Woo-hoo, you go girl!"

They could.

"Hi, Alya," said Marinette dispiritedly.

"Sorry to see your man go?" Alya said.

Alya had no idea, and Marinette had no energy or desire to begin explaining. "Sure," she said.

"Well, let's help you feel better, then," Alya said, draping an arm across Marinette's shoulders. "The girls and I wanted to have a meeting with you."

"Now?" Marinette sighed.

"It involves chocolate…"

"That's a good start."

"…girl talk…"

"Okay."

"…and helping you pop your cherry," Alix finished, coming along Marinette’s other side.

" _What?_ "

Marinette looked jerkily to Alix, then back to Alya, who put a finger over her lips, as if to say, _“I keep your secrets”_.

Marinette looked to Alix again as her friend grinned lecherously. "We're gonna help you figure out how to spend your winnings from the betting pool. We'll plan out the best possible dinner-date for the two of you to set the mood just right."

"Lucky me."

"That's the idea," Alya said, winking. "To help you get lucky."

“You’ll have Adrien so hard he’ll give you as _much_ as you want,” Alix agreed, adding a pelvic thrust in case her point wasn’t clear.

Marinette laughed. "That's… something."

"Come on!" said Alix. The two girls started tugging Marinette behind them like a kite.

_That's my life these days_ , Marinette thought. _I don't have any control. I'm just getting yanked from one thing to another. I'm ready for it to stop… any time now._

* * *

"Thrust, parry, riposte, riposte parried, counter-riposte scores. Touch left. Match."

Adrien felt the smile come to his face as he recovered from the bout and saluted his opponent. "Good match," he said, even as he took off his head protection, tucked his blade away, and offered a handshake.

His erstwhile opponent gave a rueful grin as he accepted the hand. "You say that like I had a chance."

Adrien shrugged modestly. "Any match that doesn't end in screaming is a good match, I say."

"Fair enough."

The fencers turned back to their instructor. "It was a good bout," Armand D’Argencourt said, nodding. "That ends today's lesson. You both did very well. Monsieur Agreste, could I have a word with you?"

"Of course, sir."

He waited until the other student was out of plausible earshot. He didn't have to wait long; the gym was ringing with the sounds of the other matches still ongoing. Adrien's match had been the first to finish.

"Have you changed your mind about attending the national team tryouts?" Armand said in a hopeful voice.

"I don't think I'm ready for the national team," Adrien demurred.

"What better way to find out than to attend the tryouts?" he persisted. "I'm confident you'd hold your own. Maybe not enough to make the team this year, not quite yet, but soon. Very soon! Surely the idea of measuring yourself against your country's best appeals?"

It did, but… "It's not about what I want," Adrien said, shrugging. "It's about what my father will allow."

"But he must allow this!" Armand insisted. "I've never seen such a natural! Your technique is… unorthodox," he said, generously, "but your instincts, the way you approach the match, the way you read your opponents, your reflexes and reaction speed, all of it is first-class."

"Thank you, sir," Adrien said graciously, even as the compliment made him smile. Cat Noir might not use a sword, but plenty of his skills translated to fencing well enough. Years of training didn't hurt, either.

"And unorthodoxy can be a strength itself," Armand continued. "It may make you harder to coach, but it also makes you that much harder to predict. Put it all together…"

His eyes held Adrien in his sight. Adrien could see him looking into the present and future at the same time. He could almost see the future-Adrien of his dreams, blade flashing and dancing, while medals hung around his neck. Laurels on his head, maybe, while confetti fell in the background.

"If we can't get you on the national team it would be a criminal waste of talent," Armand said.

"Criminal? Well, I'm already locked up," Adrien said wryly. "I don't think my father let me study fencing with the idea of grooming me for the national team."

"But surely he'd at least entertain the notion?" the instructor pleaded. "After all, if he wasn't going to permit you to go further, why leave you enrolled here for so long?"

"I don't know," said Adrien, and he struggled to keep bitterness out of his voice. "I don't know why my father does half the things he does."

"I'll speak to him, then," the instructor said firmly.

"Good luck, sir," Adrien said politely. It couldn't hurt, he thought as Armand strode away. Probably.

"The national team? Moving up in the world, are we?"

"Good afternoon, Kagami," Adrien said, turning to his classmate. Kagami was wearing her typically sharp, standoff-ish expression. He couldn't tell if she was making fun of him or not. "It wasn't my idea."

"Either way, perhaps I should test myself against such a shining star," she said, eyes tightening. "If you'd allow it, of course."

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Sure, I think we have a little time. You want to get a judge?"

"I don't think we need one. If any touches are too close to call we'll replay them."

"Okay. Best of five, then?"

She nodded, then retreated to her end of the strip and put her head protection on. He did likewise. They saluted properly; she shouted "en garde", and they approached.

She immediately extended her blade. It was a declaration of intent—that she would be the first to attack, and to set the pace of the touch. Even for Kagami, it was bold. Frowning, Adrien gave a little ground, letting her close the distance, but slowly.

When she got just into range she slapped at his blade. Too weak to move it, he knew—just a distraction. Just trying to draw his attention with the sound and the threat, make him overreact.

"Did you know I wanted you, too?"

Adrien blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

She lunged in, almost too fast for him to follow. He was retreating before he realized she was attacking; when panic joined the party was unclear, but he felt it on its own once he'd gotten a little distance. She recovered, blade still extended, still controlling the tempo.

"Many of us did," she said, quietly, almost too quietly to hear beneath the general tumult of the gym. "I imagine there were fewer girls who didn't harbor crushes for you than girls that did."

"Uh…" He blinked rapidly. He wasn't sure he was up to processing whatever this conversation was and fencing at the same time. _Ladybug is the multitasker_ , he thought distantly.

Kagami put him to the test with another lunge. As he'd expected, his response was slow. He was able to defend himself, but only with instinctive motions. He lost track of the bladework; when things slowed down again, both fencers' blades were bent from impacts on target.

"I didn't follow all that," he admitted. "I don't know who scored. Call it a draw and try again?"

"Yes," she grumbled as she backed away. They reset.

"En garde," he said.

Again her blade was out immediately. Again he let her advance, trying to figure out what she was playing at. Being predictable in fencing was a big disadvantage, which she knew; Adrien knew her to be an elite fencer. Whatever she was doing, it wasn't to try and earn some points.

"I had it bad, for a time," Kagami said as she neared him. The faceguard kept him from seeing her expression clearly, but he could hear the tentativeness in her voice. "For months—years, even—I harbored feelings for you. But I guess you never knew, did you? Never realized…"

“I knew you wanted a relationship,” Adrien said, “just not… how serious you were about it.”

She attacked, one lunge after another—aggressive motions, but at the very limits of her range. Adrien only needed slight retreats to make the attacks fall short. She never surrendered the initiative, though, continuing to approach and keep him reactive.

"I did my due diligence," she said between strikes. "I checked our compatibility. I compared blood types, horoscopes, personality profiles…"

Adrien batted her blade away and retreated several steps, breaking off the engagement. It was the only way for him to relax enough to speak—he didn't know how Kagami was doing both at once. "And what did you find out?"

She stood still for a moment. The tip of her blade dipped. He could see her head do the same even with the bulky guard covering it.

"…I didn't find out anything that mattered, compared to what I could _see_."

She ran for him.

This was her specialty, he knew—one pass head-to-head, then _en passant_ clashes over their backs as they passed each other. Her speed, agility, and aggression were at their best in this kind of clash.

She came on, took a stutter-step, dipped low, came up swinging—

-and he was moving towards her, deflecting her blade not outwards where it might come back in and flick him for a touch, but inwards, so that the dull, non-scoring part of it clashed harmlessly against his chest, and there was no way for her to recover it for another strike.

Then they were past each other. His arm flicked out behind him. He heard the impact, and the surprised yelp from Kagami.

He took another few steps to burn off his speed before turning to her again. "Are you okay?"

She had recovered her posture, but she said nothing; a curt nod was all he got.

"Where did I get you?"

Her hand started to rise, paused, then, grudgingly, tapped her left shoulder. A scoring area—his strike had counted.

"You _sure_ you're all right?"

"Haven't you been listening?"

She walked towards him. He stiffened in uncertainty—but then she was past him. She was merely returning to her starting position, setting up for another touch.

He likewise returned, chewing over her words all the while. "I'm sorry," he said when he'd reset. "I guess I wasn't used to liking people, and romance, and… you know."

She gave a hollow laugh. "That wasn't it. It never was."

She advanced—not the all-out rush from before, but steadily crowding into his space while remaining controlled. "I didn't know it, but I was never in the running," she said. "You'd already set your eyes elsewhere. How could you even see me?"

"Of course I saw you," he protested, stilling while he talked. "We’ve talked plenty of times, we’ve done study projects together, we agreed to be friends—"

He stopped talking to bat away more aggression. After several clangs of metal on metal he saw no advantage in continuing, and broke off. Immediately her blade was up again, marking her as the aggressor again. "That's not what I mean," she said. "You never saw me like I saw you. I saw someone I wanted as a boyfriend. But you—your heart was reserved for someone else before I ever met you."

His breath caught in his throat. In that moment she lunged for him. His parry was late; he tried to compensate with strength, but that cost him control. Her point danced around his desperate swing and stuck him.

"My touch," she said. "One to one."

"I didn't mean to lead you on, or hurt you," he said. "I can hear your pain, and I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you," she said. Her voice was wry. "I knew you didn't see me like that—not yet. I knew how this might end. I wanted to try anyway, even knowing that. Me losing was… predictable, maybe, but my heart demanded I take the chance. And if I had to lose to someone…"

She stopped. Her blade was low, for the first time all match. Others might have seen this as an opportunity, or even an invitation. Adrien didn't. He waited patiently.

"I'm happy for the two of you," Kagami blurted out.

"Thanks?" said Adrien uncertainly.

"I'm glad my friends are happy," Kagami repeated, and, somehow, Adrien believed her. "You and Marinette… you'll make each other happy. I know you will."

Adrien felt the good feelings welling up inside him, bright like sunshine, light as air. "We do," he said.

She nodded, enough for her headgear to move along with the gesture. "Good enough. It hurts to lose you, but this is the next-best thing." She laughed. "My mother would be furious that I was being gracious in defeat. Better not to lose, she'd be telling me. But sometimes we can't help it, can we?"

Another classmate with troubled parental relationships, Adrien knew, and sympathized. "Sometimes," he agreed.

"I guess I'll just have to win in other ways." Her swordtip flicked up. "Now, are you ready to finish this?"

With him reminded of Marinette's love for him, and his for her? With this feeling of energy and joy rushing through him? With a love others could see and had to acknowledge? "Absolutely," he said, and he advanced.

* * *

_Next time: Volatile Reactions_


	6. Volatile Reactions

The last notes drifted into the air and slowly faded. When nothing followed them, they seemed to linger, melancholy and wistful.

Luka Couffaine let the silence drag out, not allowing so much as a sigh to disrupt the purity of that last moment.

"Wow."

The voice made him twitch. _There’s always someone_ , he thought grouchily.

"That was really good, Luka," said Rose. "That got me right in the feels."

"Well," he said, putting a brave face on it, "I've always been good at putting emotion to music."

"But it's a bit outside our usual style," Rose said, still oblivious. "Do you think it has a place in Kitty Section’s rotation?"

"I didn't do this for our rotation," he said, strumming idly. "It was just a reflection of how I'm feeling."

Ivan twirled his drumsticks. "Because of Marinette?"

Luke played a minor chord with no follow-up, letting it linger in the air.

Juleka joined him, echoing her brother’s chord with her bass. "You really thought you had something with her, didn't you?"

He played a descending arpeggio, except the last note was a half-step off; Rose winced as the dissonance clanged.

"She still likes you," Rose said encouragingly. "I mean, not _likes you_ likes you. She likes you fine. Just fine. Not 'fine' as in 'you're fine', even though you are, but fine as in…"

Ivan cut her off with a beat of his drums. "Stop digging," he advised.

Luka played three more chords, each as melancholy as the last. "I wish she'd told me she’d chosen him," he said. “I wish she hadn’t let me find out on my own.”

"Don't take it personally," Juleka said. "It took literal years for her to work up to talking with Adrien. She has a hard time with this sort of thing."

"Most people do," Ivan said thoughtfully. "I had to be akumatized first."

"Well, I don't," said Luka. "I've always been able to be…" he played a chord that somehow conveyed the idea of 'honest'.

"The thing is, that just makes you special," said Rose. "Normal people aren't."

"I know I'm not," Juleka whispered, barely audible.

"Well, they should be," Luka pouted. "It'd make things so much easier."

"Maybe," Rose said. "But… would it have been easier for you if Marinette had been honest with Adrien three years ago?"

Luka didn't answer. He adjusted the knobs of his guitar, tuning it one string at a time, even though he knew it was already perfectly tuned.

"Anyway," Rose said, "with someone as talented at turning feelings into song as you, I bet you could make some beautiful music now."

"Lucky me," he said sarcastically. Ivan crashed a cymbal.

Rose blanched. "That sounded a lot better in my head."

"She's not wrong, though," said Juleka. "If you think about it, feelings this strong have power. That's how Hawk Moth works, right? He just turns those feelings into weapons and villains. But you can turn them into music, something good and shared. That's a superpower, if you ask me."

Luka smacked the body of his guitar. "I'm not telling the world how broken up I am now that Marinette chose pretty boy," he said through gritted teeth.

"Of course not," said Rose. "That'd be pretty awkward, and it'd be hard for us to sing. But the inspiration's there, right? You don't have to tell that specific story, just share that—"

"Hold on."

Rose had the good sense to stop talking. Luka played a chord, then another—a progression, a sequence, a final chord to complete it, ending not quite where it began. He reached backwards and grabbed some blank scale paper, yanked a pencil from his pocket, and started scribbling.

"This'll be good," Ivan whispered.

* * *

Adrien was giddy with anticipation. It was getting late, which meant it was his time. Time for his (ahem) 'patrol'.

Grinning devilishly, he stripped down, before declaring, "Plagg, claws out!"

"No can do."

Adrien's thwarted anticipation turned into a train wreck. He'd been leaning slightly forwards; the lack of transformation caused him to stumble. "Huh?"

"Sorry, kid," said the kwami, without audible regret. "Not happening."

"I'm not getting into another argument about destroying stuff for giggles."

"Hm? Oh, that. I wasn't serious about that."

Adrien gave the kwami A Look.

"Not that serious, anyway," mumbled Plagg. "That's not even the point, though!"

"Then what is the point?" said Adrien impatiently.

Plagg hesitated. Adrien could almost see the gears turning in the tiny creature's brain. "I… don't feel like it," Plagg said, crossing his arms. "The Cat Ring is… uh… supposed to be used for the greater good. You visiting your fuck-buddy is a pretty lesser good."

"Whatever happened to 'the holder of the Cat Ring is a human just like the rest, so it’s expected he does the things humans do’?" Adrien objected.

One of Plagg's eyes twitched. "I was hoping you wouldn't remember that."

"I thought you said you didn't care one way or another," Adrien continued.

"I… don't really," Plagg admitted.

"So what gives? And don't tell me you don't have enough energy," Adrien added, cutting Plagg's response off before it even started. He reached for the windowsill near Plagg's basket. "Empty?" Adrien said, holding up a container that had been full of camembert and peering inside to see if even a speck remained. Nope. "Are you sure you're not the Pig Kwami?"

"I resemble that remark," Plagg grumbled.

"Level with me, then," said Adrien, tossing the container for the trash can. "Before I have to rechristen you the Kwami of Blue Balls."

"Ohhh, nooo, you have to keep your pants on a whole evening," said Plagg, rolling his eyes. "However will you survive?"

"Plagg…"

The kwami gave a mischievous grin. "How do you know I'm not doing this just to troll you?"

Adrien frowned. "I thought you said you liked me."

Plagg's grin faltered. He even appeared to pout. "I do."

"Then tell me," Adrien said plaintively. "Give me one good reason. Heck, give me one _bad_ reason. Just… something."

The kwami opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a hint: ask your ladyfriend about it tomorrow.”

“Marinette knows?” said Adrien, and his chest tightened. “Is she in trouble? Is she alright?”

“I’ll let her be the judge of that,” Plagg said cryptically. “Just ask her about it tomorrow when you get a chance.”

“I’ll ask her tonight,” said Adrien, going for his phone.

“I wouldn’t,” said Plagg with urgency. “You need Tikki to explain it properly.”

“Then I’ll have Marinette put Tikki on the line.”

“Listen!” said Plagg. “Take it from me, you really want to put this off until tomorrow.”

“How can I?” said Adrien, trying to keep his voice from becoming frantic. “Every time you speak you make it seem worse!”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing like that. She’s not in any danger, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“She may be in trouble, but she’s not in danger,” Adrien repeated.

“You know,” Plagg said thoughtfully, “that’s about the best way you could put it.”

“Or you could tell me so I can actually sleep tonight without worrying about her the whole time.”

Plagg laughed, which Adrien didn’t appreciate. “Trust me, kid, you don’t wanna hear this from me. You wanna hear this straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“Did you just call my girlfriend a horse?”

“No, I called her a horse’s mouth. After some of the things you two have done, I don’t think you can say I’m wrong.”

The words were just odd enough to make Adrien hesitate. “Did you just use the nonsense defense?”

Plagg smirked. “Just ask her about it tomorrow, and thank me later.”

“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” Adrien grumbled.

“That’s the spirit!”

* * *

"I'd hoped you all had learned your lesson," snapped Ms. Bustier.

Eyes looked up to her—eyes that had, until moments earlier, been fixed on small glowing screens.

"The next phone I see is mine, and I read aloud five text messages of my choice," she continued.

It was a revision to the previous policy, a revision that, Marinette realized, could be so much worse. Especially in her case. It meant Ms. Bustier would read more text messages when choosing which ones to read to the class, meaning that much more of her privacy exposed. That many more of her new and terrifying secrets come to light.

She hit 'send' all the same before putting her phone away. She needed to meet with Adrien. The sooner the better.

She faintly heard the buzz of his phone. He had the good sense not to check it, but Marinette saw his eyes shift all the same. Good, he knew then. She'd count on him.

Class crawled by. Marinette tried to pay attention, honestly she did. But she broke one pencil when her hand trembled too badly as she was trying to write. Another fell out of her hand and out of her reach. A third she snapped in half, though she didn't know how or why she did it.

By the time the bell rang to end the lesson and give the students a ten-minute break, Marinette thought she might just collapse in her chair. She looked back over the notes she'd taken during the lesson. Sighing, she realized she couldn't read any of them.

"You are a wreck, girlfriend," said Alya.

"You're telling me," Marinette moaned.

Distantly, she heard Adrien excusing himself to go to the restroom. Well, that was a hopeful sign.

"You know this isn't a contest, right?" Alya said, looked at Marinette's notes. "No prizes for 'hardest to read'."

"I know," said Marinette, hanging her head. "So hard to keep it together these days."

"Well, I betcha some quality time with the boyfriend will cheer you up," Alya said, winking. "It works for me."

Marinette sighed. "I don't think—wait, what do you mean, 'works for—'"

Even that thought was interrupted by the buzz of her phone. _As if I wasn't scatter-brained enough_ , thought Marinette, reaching for the device. A message was visible. From Adrien.

"What's up?" asked Alya, craning her neck to see.

Marinette jerked the screen out of Alya's sight. "None of your business!"

"Oh, from Adrien, then," Alya said with casual certainty. Marinette opened her mouth, realized she had nothing to say, and looked back to the phone.

_Disappear between the end of study period and the start of lunch. Meet me on the southern staircase. We'll talk on the roof._

Marinette frowned. How would they meet on the roof? They'd done it plenty of times before, but always transformed, and that wasn't an option these days, thanks to their mutual horniness, Tikki's 'helpful' aura, and the Biological Imperative.

She was at a complete loss on how to communicate that to him, though. Unless Plagg had already told him, in which case, _ugh_.

Bereft of ideas, and not wanting to tempt fate with Ms. Bustier policing text messages, Marinette replaced her phone and sagged back in her seat. This was all so exhausting. And lonely.

The feeling swept over her in an instant. Her eyes looked about the class. Alya had drifted away and was standing besides Nino, who was discussing some video game maneuver with Max. Mylene was cuddling with Ivan. Juleka and Rose were comparing painted fingernails. Alix and Kim were loudly discussing sports, though Marinette couldn't tell if they were talking about sports they followed or sports they’d joined; the words didn't make it all the way to her brain.

Marinette knew these people. They were friends, classmates, and (occasionally) allies in superheroism, though they didn't know it. They should have been so close. Thanks to Ladybug, Marinette had always had to keep a piece of herself away from them. That shouldn't have made too much difference, though; because of how the akumas worked, Marinette learned more about her friends than she would have. That should have made them closer still.

It didn't.

She felt like she was locked in a room, looking out at normal life through an unbreakable window. They were all out there, doing normal things, and Marinette was in here, in her own head and feelings, living a life they knew nothing about, that they _could_ know nothing about.

How many of them were pregnant? How many of them were pregnant by the resident celebrity? How many of them were pregnant by the resident celebrity thanks to superhero-abetted trysts? How many of them knew a damn thing about what this was like?

If a chasm had opened up right then in the classroom and split Marinette's desk from the rest of the room, she didn't think it'd make her feel any more alone than she already was.

Adrien reentered the room, and was immediately talking to Ms. Bustier about something. Marinette's eyes lingered on him for a moment—until she felt other eyes on her. She looked a little over. Chloe, Sabrina, and Lila were gathered tightly. Lila was talking rapidly but inaudibly. Sabrina kept glancing around, her nervousness obvious even to a Marinette who wasn't all there herself.

Chloe, though, was staring at Marinette. Staring _into_ her. If looks were weapons, Chloe's stare was artillery.

She stopped staring long enough to mutter something at Lila, who nodded in agreement and departed, before looking at Marinette once more. Her gaze was no less intense this time.

Marinette felt paralyzed, pinned beneath that stare. It was hate like she'd never seen before.

Shit, and she didn’t even _know_ about the baby yet! What would she be like when she _did_?

Adrien returned to his seat, walking across Chloe's line of sight to do it. Marinette sucked in a breath; somewhere along the line she’d forgotten to keep breathing. Chloe was talking to Adrien now. Marinette couldn't make out words, but she could hear the tones and inflections Chloe was using.

Her usual affection was still there, but not as enthusiastic or over-the-top. There was a tremble in Chloe's voice. There were bigger spaces between her words, pauses in her sentences.

Marinette realized that she wasn't the only person feeling uncertain and alone.

There was one upside to Hawk Moth's keying on people's emotions, Marinette thought with a start. He called negative feelings out and turned them into actual weaponry. That had to do something to draw those emotions out of people's hearts and minds. It gave people an opportunity to confront them, work through them. It was like sucking out a poison.

If Hawk Moth hadn’t been evil, he would’ve been the best therapist in the world.

Under normal circumstances, Chloe probably would have been akumatized twice by now. That would have turned her jealousy and upset and wrath and distress into something outside of her. Instead she was left with all those powerful feelings, and she couldn't do anything about them but stew.

The bell rang, shocking Marinette from her reverie. "Everyone, take your seats!" Ms. Bustier called.

Alya returned to Marinette's side, then followed her friend's line of vision. In a teasing voice, she whispered, "Can't take your eyes off loverboy, huh?"

"What?" said Marinette, startled. "Uh… no, you've got it all wrong!"

"Suuuure I do," said Alya, grinning.

Marinette sighed. Lunchtime couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

Three years of finding discrete times and places to transform had taught both Adrien and Marinette how to slip away from crowds unnoticed.

As agreed, Marinette found her way to the south stairwell at the agreed-upon time. Adrien was already there. “Glad you could make it,” he said as greeting.

 _Wait ‘till you’ve heard what I have to say_ , she thought, but the words never found their way to her mouth. “Can we get to the roof without transforming?”

Adrien gave her a self-satisfied grin. “You bet. I thought some sort of situation might come up. Watch.”

He led the way further up the stairs, until it dead-ended in the roof access door. “Now I’ll do my magic… and voila,” he said as the door swung open.

“When did you learn to pick locks?” Marinette wondered.

“Uh… never,” said Adrien, suddenly sheepish. “On one occasion where we didn’t have to use our powers, I came back here and used Cataclysm. I channeled it through a single claw. Zapped the inside of the lock mechanism while leaving the rest of the doorknob. You can put the key in and turn it, but you don’t actually lock anything.”

“That’s… really precise control of your powers,” Marinette said, impressed.

“Thanks,” he said, relieved and flattered. “I guess I was bound to learn a thing or two eventually.”

He led the way into the open roof area. The school was taller than most of the surrounding buildings, and they could move to screen themselves from those that were taller. This was familiar territory. They were almost on autopilot as both of them moved to achieve privacy.

“So, my lady,” Adrien said, using the familiar, intimate version of his term for her, “what’s on your mind?”

She gave a humorless chuckle. “I’ve been trying to think of how to say it all day. All yesterday, too.”

“Wow, it must be something, then,” said Adrien.

She winced. “That doesn’t make it easier, you know.”

“You want me to start, then?”

“Huh?” she said, blinking.

“I wanted to talk to you, too,” Adrien said.

“You did?”

“Yep. I thought you might know… do you know why I can’t transform?”

Marinette groaned. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging,” Adrien said, his concern evident. “Is everything alright?”

“That’s the million-euro question,” Marinette said. “You see, the answer to your question is the same thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh,” said Adrien. He ran a hand through his hair. “Well… it’s efficient this way, then,” he said, straining to find a silver lining. “This way, you only need to have one awkward, painful discussion instead of two.”

Marinette closed her eyes. “I know you’re trying, but…”

“…Stop?”

“Stop.”

“Okay. At your own pace. I’m here no matter what it is.”

That did make a difference. Not enough of one. She put her hands in front of her face.

“Hey, listen.” She felt his arms wrap around her, pull her into his warmth. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. No matter how weird or complicated it might be.”

This time the thought escaped. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“After all we’ve been through? Have I ever not been here?” He squeezed her. “Try me.”

It was almost a dare. She looked up, annoyance added into the swirl of emotions going through her. “You sure you can take it, kitty?”

He chuckled, and a shadow of Cat Noir came over his face. “I’ve taken every kind of hit for you, milady, and I always come back to take the next. Whatever it is can’t be bad enough to stop me coming back again.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Marinette. Her voice failed her halfway through; the last couple of words were a cracked squeak.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, smiling. “So…?”

“You…” she swallowed hard. “You know all that… well, all the sex we’ve been having?”

“You bet I do,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“It was, er… productive.”

He blinked blankly.

There were two words that said it most simply, but they were the hardest to say. She couldn’t bear it. “We put a bun in the oven,” she tried.

“What does your parent’s bakery have to do with anything?”

“No, not…” She sighed, girded herself. “You’re going to be a father soon.”

“Well, I hope so, I do want kids.”

“Like… really soon.”

“Uh…”

“ _Really_ soon.”

“…Are you trying to tell me something?”

“You are so dense sometimes,” she said, exasperated. “Am I really going to have to say it?”

“I wish you would,” he said, almost as distressed as she was.

“I’m pregnant!”

His eyes shot open. **_Finally_** _he gets it_ , she thought.

For a terrifying moment, he didn’t move. His mouth flopped open and shut like an asphyxiating fish.

 _Oh, this is it,_ she thought. _I broke him. This is too much for him, it’s not what he wanted, I lost him and he’ll go away and I’ll be alone and on the streets and—_

Smooch.

His kiss put an end to that line of thought right quick.

And it didn’t stop. He was kissing her again, with great hunger, almost ferocity. He was squeezing her against him, as if any distance between them was unacceptable. It was too much for her to have room for worry or distress or doubt.

He started moving, though with the passion of his kisses she had no notion of where they were. Not, at least, until her back was against a wall.

With her pinned there, and partially supported by the wall, he started really going to town.

It wasn’t just his mouth, it was his hands, his legs, his chest, he was everywhere, all over her, the taste of him spicy and hot. He took a moment to catch his breath. Marinette had just enough time to think, distantly, that out of all the emotions she’d expected to provoke, lust hadn’t even been on the list…

And then he was upon her again, as frenzied as before. It inflamed her passions in equal measure. Soon she was matching him kiss for kiss.

Squeeze for squeeze.

Moan for moan.

Grope for grope.

And more…

He wasn’t holding back. She wouldn’t, either. He was soaring to new heights of passion. She eagerly followed.

Soon she was matching him pants-for-pants and underwear-for-underwear, too.

Gasp for gasp.

Thrust for thrust.

Need for need.

Climax for climax.

It was only much later, as the afterglow was beginning to fade, that she chuckled dumbly. “That… wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting,” she panted.

“Oh?” he said, grinning like the cat that got the cream. Which, she thought, wasn’t too far off.

“I guess you’re just proud of your handiwork, and it turned you on?” she said with a goofy smile.

“There is that,” he admitted. “It’s so much more, though. It’s proof.”

“Proof?” she said, cocking her head.

“Proof we love each other,” he said. “That we love each other enough to make something new.”

He gave her such a look of adoration she thought she might melt into a puddle on the spot. Her post-orgasm shakiness didn’t help.

“Not to mention that you’ll probably look awesome pregnant,” he added, grinning.

She gave him an offended look. “I’m not preggo just for your viewing pleasure!”

“Of course not,” he said, unabashed. “It’s just a nice bonus.”

She sighed. “Kiss me before you say anything else that dumb.”

“Hmm… can do.”

It was a good kiss. All their practice had paid off. “You know,” she said, as her anxiety bubbled up even through the post-coital bliss, “this is a child we’re talking about. A whole new human being.”

“ _Our_ child,” he corrected. “Our whole new human being.”

That did sound better. Not that she’d admit it. “It won’t be all celebration sex and the like. It’s going to turn our lives upside down.”

“Exactly.”

She closed her eyes. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

His chuckle resonated between them. “It’s the other way around. You didn’t believe what I said earlier.”

“What was that?”

“That this is the proof of our love, and I want that so badly.” He cupped her chin and lifted; her eyes opened reflexively and met with his. “Was this my plan? No way. Was this how I saw things working out? Of course not.

“But do I regret anything we’ve done? Not a chance in hell.”

She couldn’t bear to look at him. It was like staring at the sun. “Hold me,” she said, and sank against his body.

“Forever,” he promised.

They stayed there for a while, in their own little world, even as he softened and they cooled. There was no room for anything in their world but each other. Everything around them slipped by, unnoticing.

Until her phone buzzed.

“Ignore it,” he said.

“I can’t,” she replied with reluctance. “I set that as a warning that we need to get back to class soon.”

He sighed, and made a great show of tearing himself away from her. “I can’t say it sounds good compared to holding you.”

“It’s not my favorite either,” she agreed, but she released him all the same, and started rearranging her clothes. “Still, we both know how important it is to not draw attention to our absences.”

“We can’t go back just yet,” Adrien said, shaking his head. “You still owe me an answer.”

She blinked. “I do?”

“Yeah. Why can’t I transform?”

“Oh, that,” she said with embarrassment. “I guess I never got around to telling you.”

“Well… I was being pretty distracting.”

She kissed him. “Damn right you were.”

“So?”

Marinette tugged her panties back up her legs. “Tikki turned everyone’s Miraculous powers off,” she explained. “No superheroics while I’m pregnant. Or supervillains, either. It’s called the Biological Imperative.”

“She can do that?”

“Apparently,” Marinette said.

“Even to Hawk Moth?”

“That’s what she says. And hey, no one’s been akumatized the past couple of days, so I guess it’s working.”

“Huh. Plagg told me I’d rather hear it from you, and he was right.”

“Wonders never cease,” Marinette said, immensely relieved.

Adrien gave her a thoughtful expression.

“What?” she prompted.

“I know how to solve our problems with Hawk Moth,” he said. “We can finally achieve peace like this.”

“How?” she said, vastly more suspiciously.

“If you being pregnant keeps everyone from transforming,” Adrien said, the corners of his mouth twitching, “then as long as we can _keep_ you preg—”

“Don’t finish that sentence if you ever want to touch me again.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “Yes, milady.”

* * *

If the checkout clerk at the convenience store had any misgivings about the sale she was making, she said nothing. That suited Lila just fine. Lila handed over cash—not her own, of course, but courtesy of Chloe Bourgeois—to complete the sale.

The clerk handed back the box, and finally acknowledged what it was she was selling. "Have fun," she said, fighting back a small smile.

Lila's smile didn't hide—but it also didn't share mirth. "Oh, I will," she said as she took the box of condoms. "Trust me, I will."

* * *

_Next time: Good at Patterns_


	7. Good At Patterns

Adrien came to a sudden halt halfway down the stairs. Nathalie and Gabriel were at the bottom. They were chatting, but also clearly waiting.

Waiting, Adrien realized with a start, for him.

"You're done with your homework, then?" Gabriel prompted.

"Yes, father," Adrien said, politely but cautiously.

"Good," was the brusque reply. "Then you can come with us to dinner."

Without waiting for a reply, or checking to see if Adrien was coming, Gabriel spun on the spot and headed for a dining room. Nathalie followed on his heels. Adrien found himself being pulled along in their wake. He was a dog being dragged by its leash.

"You're joining us, Nathalie?" he said aloud.

"At my request," Gabriel answered for her. She hadn't even opened her mouth.

"Well," said Adrien with forced casualness, "I suppose you'd have to eat sooner or later, even if I can't ever remember seeing…"

She was sitting to Gabriel's immediate right, nearly as distant from Adrien as his father was. Salads and a tableware spread awaited both Agrestes. Her place was bare.

Adrien looked up the table, uncomprehending.

"Sit," his father ordered, before digging into his salad.

Adrien spared another glance to Nathalie. She was the picture of passivity. "Don't you get to eat, too?"

"There will be time for that later," she replied.

Adrien gave up. "Suit yourself," he said, sitting and finally going for the salad.

As before, the soup came out piping hot. Adrien was ready for it this time, and enjoyed it more as a result. His mention of this fact was the only conversation anyone attempted. Only the sounds of clinking cutlery could be heard. As large as the room was compared to its few occupants, even those noises seemed to vanish into nothing.

Curiosity and caution warred in Adrien's mind. Did he dare ask what was going on? (The soup went; the fish arrived.) Was this a test? (The fish went; the meat arrived.) Was his father just waiting for him to trip up again?

The server cleared the meat, but no dessert or coffee came to replace it. Instead, Gabriel leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. "So," he said.

"A… needle pulling thread?" Adrien tried weakly.

"Marinette Dupain-Chang."

Adrien was too honest to be able to hide his shock. "Y-yes? What about her?"

Index fingers tapped against each other. "I'm told you've shown an… interest. In this girl."

Nathalie's presence suddenly made sense. Adrien looked at her as a frown creased his brow. She met his gaze without any hint of shame or regret or, really, any emotion at all. Her loyalties were clear and uncomplicated.

Adrien's mind didn't seem to want to work right. What could he even say? What sounded least bad?

"Is it true?" Gabriel demanded, eyes narrowing.

With Nathalie there, denial would be futile. Adrien looked to the side, unable to meet his father's gaze. "Are you already upset?" he asked.

"This is not about me," Gabriel said.

_It's always about you_ , Adrien thought bitterly. "What should I say?" he vocalized instead.

"Try the truth," was the testy answer.

_I can say the truth, like, eight different ways. Which way hurts least?_ Adrien sighed. Well, might as well try the simplest approach. "Yes," he said.

Another tap of index fingers. "'Yes' what?"

"Yes, I've shown an interest in Marinette." It was the minimalist answer. If he was going to be wrong no matter what, he might as well be wrong for under-communicating. He could live with that.

"Oh?" said his father expectantly.

The silence Gabriel created was irresistible; Adrien had to fill it. "Well, she's interesting," he said.

"In what way?"

"She's…"

Adrien's shoulders relaxed. He let out a sigh, breathing deeply for the first time in who knew how long. His affection for her overcame his fear of his father. With the news she’d shared with him that day, he was more fond of her than ever. "She's amazing," he said. "She's smart, and funny, and very kind. But she doesn't let people take advantage of her, either. She can take care of herself. She comes up with the most amazing plans—and they actually work! And when she laughs and smiles…"

He trailed off. That opening was all Gabriel needed. "That's an unfortunate perception," he said sharply. "Every time I've seen her, she's been clumsy, foolish, and devious. I wouldn't trust her to buy my groceries, let alone court my son."

The edges of Adrien's vision seemed to fade to black. His heart pounded in his chest; a rushing sound filled his ears. "You don't know her like I do," he said, choking down a surge of anger.

"Or, you only know her act," Gabriel countered.

"There's no 'act'," Adrien said. His grip tightened on the tablecloth.

"That just shows how much you've been fooled," Gabriel replied. "She's completely beneath you."

"I don't think so," Adrien retorted.

"I've seen her lie," Gabriel said, eyes narrowing. "I've seen her steal. She's as untrustworthy as she is incompetent."

"Incompetent, huh?" Adrien said, anger giving rise to recklessness. "I seem to remember you using her designs in the past."

"By default," Gabriel sneered. "There has to be a winner of those contests, and hers was the least-awful of her classmates' offerings. Don't mistake that for skill. I wouldn't allow any of my models to be seen dead in her designs."

"Stop hating on my girlfriend!" Adrien roared, surging to his feet.

Nathalie rose to match him, but Gabriel didn’t move. His voice was colder and more cutting than ever. "Just as I thought. You've been hoodwinked. You're not thinking about this clearly."

Politeness and deference had vanished. Adrien snarled back, "Don't tell me how I'm thinking. I've been thinking about her for literal years." It was true enough for him—Ladybug had turned out to be Marinette, after all.

"Know your place," Gabriel said quietly. "You are my son, in my house. You will act as you should."

Adrien's left eye twitched. He did not reply.

"Sit," Gabriel commanded.

Adrien wanted to. He yearned to. Doing what his father wanted—why, if he could have Gabriel's approval, even for a moment-!

But would he get it? Or was this just another opportunity for Gabriel to express his disappointment?

"Sit," Gabriel repeated.

Slowly, reluctantly, Adrien complied. "Yes, father," he said—but his tone was not subservient or deferential, as it had been in years past.

If his father noticed, he showed no sign. Instead, his face softened. "You must understand that I want the best for you," he said more gently. "I have your interests at heart. The last thing I want is for someone to take advantage of your kind and generous soul."

He paused, giving Adrien a chance to reply, but Adrien didn't dare. His heart was hammering against his breastbone and he was still seeing red. If he spoke, he didn't know what might spill out.

"Which is why," Gabriel continued, "it's best for you to rely on my experience. I've seen this sort of thing quite often, I assure you. We always have to be cautious. Fortune and generosity are easily abused. Your graduation is coming up, yes?"

Still Adrien didn't respond, even to nod. Nathalie answered instead. "It is, sir."

"And you've known this girl for three years, but only now is this relationship happening?"

Adrien's lips smashed together. He did, at last, manage to nod.

"It's all clear then," Gabriel said. "Graduation is causing people to panic about their futures. This girl has ambitions of being a designer, but lacks the talent to make it on her own, so she's latching on to you to get an 'in' with my—"

Adrien stood up so violently his chair was flung to the floor. "This is not about you!" he screamed.

"You will watch your tongue in this household," Gabriel snapped.

"Yeah, I'll watch it," Adrien retorted, letting his tone match his feelings at last. "I'll watch it go right out this door."

"You will do nothing so foolish as—"

"…As sit here and listen to you judge someone you don't even know?!" Adrien interrupted. "No, I won't. Good evening, father… and sycophant," he added with a nod at Nathalie.

His father's voice chased him towards the door. "We're not done here—"

Adrien slammed it shut with as much non-Cat Noir strength as he could muster.

* * *

Marinette grasped her courage tightly as she walked downstairs. Her mother was sitting on the couch opposite the television. "Hey mom," she said.

"Evening, dear," was the warm reply. "Did you want to watch with me tonight?"

"I guess," Marinette said as she approached.

"I feel so honored," Sabine said brightly. "You don't typically go for these shows."

"I needed some company tonight," Marinette said, trying to make it not sound too mopey.

She didn't succeed. Sabine looked up at her, scrutinized her more closely. "Come on down, then," she said, patting the sofa next to her. Marinette obliged her. "In that case, you should have joined us earlier, when your father was awake."

"So he's already in bed?" said Marinette—he usually was by now, but she had to be sure.

"Yes," said Sabine. "So what's wrong? What's the problem?"

This was it. The moment of truth. Marinette mustered her nerve—

-and swerved away. "Oh, it's just exam stress, and all that."

"That does get to people," Sabine said, seeming to agree. Marinette didn't doubt for a second that her mother knew better, but she wasn't forcing the pace. She was letting Marinette come around on her own. Marinette felt a rush of affection for her mother.

They watched the show's next segment together. "No way he's the murderer," Marinette said as the show went to commercial.

"Of course not," Sabine agreed. "It's too obvious, and if he was, the show would be over too soon. They've got to fill the runtime. Who do you think it is?"

"The best friend, of course. He's sending off all the 'I want to be helpful to throw people off my trail while still being super-creepy' vibes."

"That's a good guess," Sabine said shrewdly, "but I'd go with the cousin. He isn't doing or saying much, but he's in the picture constantly. The director wants us to remember that he's around. He's there for a plot reason, I'm sure."

"Yeah, he's probably the one with the evidence to convict the best friend!"

Sabine laughed. "You are sharp as a tack. I still think it's the cousin, but we'll see."

The next segment of the show came and went. The primary suspect was, after an arrest and interrogation, found to be totally innocent, of course. As the cops went to investigate the cousin, he turned up missing.

"Looks like he's on the run," said Sabine.

"Nope," said Marinette confidently. "I think the best friend killed him to cover his tracks, but that'll be what makes the cops take him seriously as a suspect. Then they'll find some miracle clue they missed the first time to clinch it."

Her mother grabbed her up in a hug. "I think Detective Marinette just cracked the case!"

Marinette smiled weakly. "These shows have patterns, you know? I'm pretty good at patterns."

"And plenty of other things, of course," her mother added.

"Not everything," said Marinette, her voice and gaze alike both falling.

Sabine extended the remote in her direction. "Are you ready to talk about it, or do you want to find out if you're right?"

Marinette hesitated, then took the remote and killed the television. The nervousness had returned. Only the comfort of being with her mom like this suppressed it at all. "This has to stay a secret," she began, before wincing. "At least, as long as it can be a secret."

"I gathered as much," Sabine replied drily. "And I'm guessing it's personal, since you didn't want your father to hear it."

"Not yet," Marinette agreed. "I'd need your help managing that."

Sabine nodded reasonably. "I can help with that—if you tell me what it is."

This was it. Now or never. Taking a deep breath, Marinette screwed up her courage, set her face, and spoke.

"I'm pregnant."

For a second that might have been an eternity, there was no comprehension nor reaction from her mother.

And then—

"No way—you too?!"

\--her mother squeezed her into a smothering hug.

"You're not upset?" Marinette squeaked. "Wait… me _too_?!"

"Yes!" said Sabine, flushing with giddiness. "I just found out yesterday—you’re the first person I’ve told! Oh, Marinette, this is wild!"

"I was just thinking that," Marinette said weakly.

"We weren't planning on it," her mother rambled on, "I'm old and I’ve been on the pill for years—but you know how it goes, every method of contraception has some failure rate, and I guess God or someone had a different plan for me!"

Marinette had a fleeting vision of which "someone" might have had a different plan about babies.

"But I don't need to tell you that," Sabine rolled on, "you obviously know all about how birth control can fail."

"Yeah," said Marinette, cringing and trying to play it off with a hand behind her head. "Yeah, that's totally how I got pregnant! It’s not like we were just humping bareback every day for weeks, no way! Ha ha!"

Either her mother was far too trusting, or she was so wrapped up in the moment that she couldn't waste time thinking about that. "You know who the father is, right?"

"Of course I know the father!" Marinette protested.

"And?"

"Er…" It was still so weird to talk openly it! She swallowed hard, then said, "Adrien Agreste."

"Ooh, I like him," cooed Sabine. "I think I'm starting to see how this happened."

Marinette was scandalized. "Mom! I don't know what you're imagining, but I don't think I like it!"

Her mother's face was suddenly all business. "You love him?"

"For years," Marinette replied—the easiest answer she'd given all evening.

"And he loves you?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"With his actions? He doesn't just say he loves you, but he acts his love?"

Marinette could think of a dozen examples, as both superheroes and mere mortals. "Yes."

"Good," said Sabine with a firm nod. "When's the wedding?"

Marinette goggled at her mother. "The… wedding?"

"Sorry," Sabine said, "I guess I just assumed that if you were at this point in your relationship… he does know you're pregnant, right?"

"I told him," said Marinette, feeling increasingly adrift. She put her hands on her head. "I guess we forgot that part! All of this is just going so fast…"

"Well, there's plenty of time for that," her mother said encouragingly. "But here's the more important question: will he help you take care of the baby?"

"Yes," Marinette said reflexively. Then, wincing a little, she added, "Somehow."

"That's all that really matters," said Sabine, taking Marinette's hands in her own. "If you make a life together, you should have a life together. And if you do, the rest of it will work out."

Marinette sighed in relief; it felt like years of tension left her all at once. She relaxed for the first time that evening. Maybe the first time in months. What had felt like an impossible weight had lifted. "Thanks, mom," she said. "I super-duper needed to hear someone say that."

"What, Adrien wasn't saying that?" Sabine said, eyes twinkling playfully.

"Well, he was, but what does he know? He's in the same situation!" said Marinette with loving exasperation. "He's supposed to say that, anyway—isn't it his job to help me feel better?"

"Some," said Sabine liltingly. "But don't take it for granted."

Marinette nodded. "I won't."

"And be sure he knows you appreciate it."

"I will."

"Good." With that, she put her hands back on her head, tugged her hair a little, and gave a small scream. "I can't believe it! I'm gonna have grandkids!"

"At the same time as a kid of your own," Marinette said with a squirm. "Won't that be awkward?"

"I'm not worried about it," she replied. "I'm too busy thinking about you! You will tell people, right? I don't want to sit on this for long, I want to be able to make a royal fuss over you!"

"Y-yeah," said Marinette haltingly. "Once we figure out how to tell people… and how we're going to live together… and what we're going to do about his father…"

It was a much scarier list when she said it aloud.

"I'm here for you, I'll help however I can," said Sabine. "In fact, I'm so wound up I think I need to go make a list of things to buy. Outfits, bedding, blankets, stuffed animals, diapers, never too early to start stocking up on diapers…" she'd risen and was walking out of the living room before she caught herself. "Want to talk it over with me?"

"Not tonight," said Marinette queasily. "I still have to go to school tomorrow, and it's getting kind of late. Plus, I've had about as much excitement as I can stand."

"Well, you be sure to take care of yourself, then," said her mother. She returned long enough to give Marinette another hug. "I'll start working your father around to the idea tomorrow. You just concentrate on staying healthy and finishing school."

Marinette smiled. "I love you, mom."

"I love you, too. Oh! Pacifiers—and developmental toys, not to mention the first few books, the earlier the better when it comes to reading to baby…"

Her mother wandered off, still chattering, and Marinette drifted up to her room. As relieved as she was that her mother wasn't going to crucify her, the feeling that she had no control over her own life wasn't going away. She had one more conversation to get through before she could sleep.

She went to her desk and threw open a drawer. Inside, Tikki was in a partial food coma; an empty wrapper of biscuits and leftover crumbs were her bedmates. "You got my mom pregnant," Marinette accused.

"Well," said Tikki drowsily, " _technically_ , your dad got your mom pregnant."

"You knew?!"

Tikki gave a shrug that seemed to last a year.

"This is _so_ your fault." Marinette folded her arms. "You mentioned you have an aura that defeats birth control, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"What's its range?"

Tikki yawned extravagantly. "Well, the closer you are, the more powerful it is, of course. But, typically, birth control that's used within five meters of me is a fifty-fifty to fail."

"Five meters," Marinette mumbled, looking around her room. "I used to keep you over there," she said, pointing to the side of the room. "That's closer to my parents' bedroom, and nothing happened then. But then I rearranged the furniture here, and you've been… over my parents' bathroom?"

"Mm-hmm," replied Tikki.

Marinette face-palmed. "Within five meters of my mom's medicine cabinet, where she keeps her pills. _All_ her pills, apparently."

"Mm-hmm," Tikki said again, though this time it was at least as much satisfaction as affirmation.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Marinette demanded. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"Why would I?" said Tikki, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Why would I do something that'd result in fewer babies?"

Marinette scowled. "'Kwami of Creation' my ass. You know, there were years where I thought Plagg was the troublemaker between you two."

"I don't cause trouble. Just babies."

Marinette sighed. "I can't take you anywhere."

Tikki giggled. "I think we just proved you can't leave me at home, either."

"Hush."

* * *

Nathalie's five-minute warning alarm went off. Confound it. There was never enough time…

She made some more notes and scrupulously marked her page in the Grimoire. She'd been working her way through it, slowly but steadily, on those occasions when she was sure Gabriel wouldn't need it. Ever since the Imperative had struck, the project had taken on new urgency.

Frustration did not suit Gabriel. It hurt to see him like that. She couldn’t stand that he was upset and she couldn’t help him. She was failing him.

To date, however, she hadn't found anything that could help him wriggle out of this predicament. Not only was there no mention of the Imperative at all, but there was no mention of how to increase a kwami's power. Not in any useful way, at least. She was fairly certain giving Duusu the power to ice skate wasn't going to help him override the Kwami of Creation.

Aggravation! Gabriel deserved better than this. He deserved better than a comatose wife, and an impotent kwami, and a disappointing son, and a brain-dead bodyguard, and a useless, useless personal assistant…

She snapped the book shut and stood up from the table. Light-headedness struck her immediately; she swayed on the spot, vision darkening dangerously. Only by grabbing the table did she keep from toppling, and the table shifted as she swung.

She tottered forward and got a hand on the back of the chair. That worked; she was able to lean over it to hold herself steady. Panting like she'd been sprinting, she waited for the sensation to pass.

"Are you alright?"

She clamped her eyes shut to avoid having to look at the kwami. "I'm fine, Duusu."

"You don't look fine."

"I just stood up too quickly," she lied.

"That's not usually a thing for humans," Duusu said. "They're kinda made to stand."

"It still happens sometimes," Nathalie said through gritted teeth. Her balance was starting to return to her, but she still needed the chair to stay upright.

"Sometimes? You mean more and more," said Duusu, almost sing-song. "More and more, more and more… for you, anyway."

"That's enough, Duusu," Nathalie said.

"Did you just start standing up faster? Like, you decided one day, How can I improve my life? Maybe if I spend less time standing up…"

"That's enough!" Nathalie barked, and regretted it; coughing followed immediately.

"Yeah, that's really not fine."

"You're who's not fine," Nathalie retorted, gathering herself enough to look at the peacock-shaped irritant. "Have you figured out a way to transform me yet?"

"Yeah, I've never been the strongest kwami," replied Duusu, "and I'm not exactly at my best these days. There's no way I can overpower Tikki."

"Are you even trying?" Nathalie sneered. Self-control wasn't necessary when she was alone, and Duusu didn't qualify as company, so when she needed to vent her (many) frustrations, the kwami got a slice.

Duusu finally stilled its flight and hovered in place. "How?" it asked. "I mean, seriously: what would I do?"

"You want me to tell you how to do kwami magic?" Nathalie scoffed.

"If you can't," Duusu replied slyly, "then maybe you should trust the expert?"

"Some expert you are," Nathalie huffed. She glanced at her watch. It was time to go.

Cleaning up the room went quickly, but still left her unsteady. Dammit. This wasn't good. Her body was cooperating only slightly more than that unbearable kwami. Even so, she was able to replace the Grimoire and school her features before Adrien came downstairs.

"Good morning, Nathalie," he said. It was customary from him—but Nathalie detected a distance, a caution, that hadn't been there before.

"Morning," she replied in her usual clipped tones. Another glance at her watch. "Breakfast is ready and waiting for you. You are two minutes behind schedule, so eat quickly."

"I'll manage," Adrien said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. As he passed by her, he paused, and spoke in an undertone. "Do you report every conversation we have to my father?"

She appraised him. His expression was hard—not hostile, but ungiving. Whatever meekness and deference he still showed his father he was not extending to her. "Every conversation I think he wants to know about," she answered.

"That's fair. In that case, I'll tell you that Marinette has invited me out on a date on Thursday, and I plan to go."

She turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "Why not tell him yourself?"

Adrien looked away; Nathalie couldn't catch his expression. "You get to see him more than I do. And… I have proof that when you speak, he listens."

Nathalie's breath hitched. For once, it had nothing to do with her underperforming body. An unsettled feeling was welling up within her. More emotions than she could identify and name were rising at his words.

Not that she'd let him see that. Clearing her throat, she said, "You're now four minutes late. You'll have to eat very quickly."

"That's the least of my problems," he said, striding away.

She sighed. Was she really going to have to play intermediary between father and son? She didn't relish the prospect.

But Gabriel would be extremely upset if he didn't know about this.

She'd let him know… once Adrien was safely at school. Nodding to herself, she proceeded with her morning.

* * *

_Next time: Out of Order_


	8. Out of Order

Gorilla growled as he navigated the limo through the traffic in front of the Agreste manor. There were several cars parked along the side of the road— _illegally_ , he thought bitterly—that were causing all other traffic to have to weave their way along.

"Today is a Thursday," Nathalie said to Adrien, "which means you'll start with piano, followed by homework."

"That is the usual," he agreed, "but what about the unusual? Did you talk to my father about my going on a date with Marinette tonight?"

"I did," she said. Her voice had gotten shorter and sharper.

"And? What did he say?"

Nathalie busied herself with the folders and electronics she was carrying. "He said… there would be no need for something like that. He said your schedule was quite busy enough already."

Adrien sighed and looked out the window. "I was afraid he'd say that."

"And I must say, I agree," Nathalie continued. "Especially if you want to be in bed at a reasonable hour. I can tell you haven't been getting enough sleep lately."

"I've been balancing my sleep against other priorities," Adrien said, grinning at his reflection.

"I'll need you to write out your priorities," Nathalie said with a frown. "It sounds like they need reordering."

Adrien just laughed. He grabbed his backpack and looked inside it.

"What is it?" Nathalie said keenly.

"Just making sure I packed everything," was the glib reply.

"And?"

"Looks like," he said, hefting the backpack to keep it ready. "Just in time."

Gorilla started the turn that would take him through the manor's gates—and slammed on the brakes. A van, driven by a teenager, had pulled up dangerously close in front of him, and now the two vehicles were at a standstill. Gorilla angrily honked the horn. The teenager gave a cocky grin and a rude hand gesture, but then her horn sounded too.

As if that was a cue, Adrien threw open the door on the street-facing side of the car. Nathalie's grab for him just missed; Gorilla didn't even get that far.

"Adrien!" Nathalie called after him, but she might as well have been shouting at the tide. Before her eyes, Adrien dashed across the street and into the open door of a car pointed the opposite direction. That car took off from the curb the moment his door slammed shut.

Nathalie slid out of her seat and tried to follow, but other cars were passing by, blocking her progress and her view of the offending car alike. In a moment, it had turned and was gone.

Nathalie and Gorilla exchanged a look that clearly communicated their shared doom. After several seconds, Nathalie sighed and resigned herself. "I'll tell Monsieur Agreste," she said.

Gorilla saluted her.

* * *

"Another perfectly conceived and executed plan, milady," Adrien said as he buckled in next to Marinette.

"I thought it might work," she said modestly, but her pleased expression was plain.

"Have you been lurking outside my house long?" he teased. "Casing up the place?"

"Says the literal cat burglar."

"I don't steal things!"

"Except virginity."

"Hey, I didn't steal that. It was a gift."

"It was, actually," she allowed, "touché."

"When did you learn how to drive, by the way?"

"My family bakery does deliveries every so often. My parents don't like doing it, and teaching me was cheaper than hiring a driver. This is their car."

"They let you borrow their car?" said Adrien, awed.

"Not just me," said Marinette, oblivious to how the notion blew Adrien's mind. "Alya and Alix were in two of the other cars slowing down traffic, there."

"Wait, what?"

Marinette smirked. "Did you think I'd leave anything to chance when it comes to making off with you? Alix jammed up your dad’s car, which is what made Gorilla stop. Alya parked her family's car along the street to slow down traffic the other direction. She let me make a clean getaway, and made Gorilla take it slow enough for you to spot me in time."

Adrien looked over his shoulder. He could just make out the shape of Alya behind the wheel of the car behind them. She gave a jaunty wave before turning down a cross-street.

"Not for free, though," Marinette clarified. "I owe them a blow-by-blow of the date as payment. Frankly," she threw him a grin, "compared to what I've already spilled, I think that's a bargain."

"You didn't even have to use a superpower to get what your plan needed," Adrien teased. "Hm… that's a thought. If you had used Lucky Charm to make this plan work, what do you think you'd have gotten?"

"I don't know," said Marinette with a shrug. "Probably a giant hairbrush or something random like that."

Adrien laughed. "And what would you have done with it?"

"I don't know," Marinette repeated, laughing with him. "But I'm sure I'd have figured it out. I was pretty motivated."

He preened at her words. It was such a catlike move her mind flashed his Cat Noir guise over what her eyes saw. She blinked hard and looked back to the road.

"Are we heading to a place where I can change?" he asked, taking another look into his backpack. There, waiting for him, was fancier and nicer attire for his date.

"Where _we_ can change," Marinette corrected; she was still in school garb herself. "And yes, we're dropping by my parents' place before continuing on."

"What, we're not going to find a spot barely out of view and just get it done?" he said lightly. "That's what Ladybug would do, I bet."

"I bet, but she can transform in seconds, whereas it takes poor Marinette a bit longer to get herself in order."

"Maybe she should learn to get ready faster."

"Remind me: how long does it take you to shower in the morning?"

"Oof," he said, hand going over his heart. "You got me. Well, I'm sure the wait will be worth it."

* * *

Hand-in-hand they walked, two naturally gorgeous people dressed to the nines and dolled up for each other. Marinette had splurged to rent a fancy dress like the one she’d worn to a formal dance earlier in the year; Adrien had plumbed the depths of his massive closet for his favorites. The result was that each was staring at the other so much it was almost unsafe for them to walk. Each felt like their smiles would never leave their faces.

"It's a nice night for this," Adrien said.

"Mm-hmm," she replied.

He chuckled. "Not the most stimulating conversation, I'll admit."

"Our minds are on other things," she said lightly.

"You're right, as usual. Just being around you is plenty to hold my attention."

They reached the entrance to their restaurant. "We have a reservation," Marinette told the host. "Name of Dupain-Chang."

The host reviewed his list briefly, then nodded. "This way, mademoiselle, monsieur."

They were soon seated at an outside table, illuminated intimately by candlelight, and surrounded by an array of cutlery, glasses and dishes. "Wow," said Marinette once the host had left them. "This is kind of intimidating."

"A supervillain is no big deal," Adrien teased, "but give Marinette a few extra forks and she's lost?"

"And you're not?" she retaliated.

"Not at all," said Adrien. "I was trained for this sort of thing. All part of the high-class life I was supposed to lead."

"Glad to see it's coming in handy," she said, amused. "In that case… could you order for me?"

He gave her a puzzled look.

"I can't make heads or tails of this menu," she said. "Anything involving bread I recognize, and I know all these desserts, but I don't know half of these… look, is this a kind of cheese?"

Adrien leaned over. "No, that describes how it's prepared."

"I didn't know that," she said, handing over her menu. "So you order for me."

"What is this, a test?" he said with a grin. "I have to order something you'll like to show how well I know you?"

"I thought I was showing how much I trusted you," she said, matching his tone.

"Well, I'll just have to show I deserve that trust," he said, suddenly serious. "Honestly, you'd probably like most of this, but what would you like _most_ …"

Marinette poured herself some water from the jug on the table, and quietly observed as he perused his options. When the waiter came around, he rattled off their orders, never missing a beat. "And one glass of the house wine," he concluded. He glanced at Marinette. "If milady doesn’t mind me indulging."

"Sure," she replied. She did a little math in her head. "In fact, you can have another later if you want it."

"Excellent choice," said the waiter, scribbling.

"Do you have a sparkling equivalent?" Adrien asked. "Milady can't have the wine."

 _He's looking out for the child_ , she thought with a jolt. It was already changing her life in so many small ways…

The waiter gave a put-upon sigh. "We do," he said with resentment, "but it's not the same."

"Of course it isn't," agreed Adrien diplomatically, "but it's closer than water, I'm sure. We don't want to disrespect the food too much."

That seemed to mollify the waiter, who made a final note. "Your regard is appreciated. I'll be back with the _amuse bouche_."

After the waiter had departed, Adrien gave a thoughtful hum. "It's funny. I've had fancy dinners like this before, but I never got to actually order. It was always… someone else setting the menu."

"So the real gift for you isn't the food," Marinette said, picking up his feeling. "It's the freedom to choose."

He nodded. "Especially the freedom to choose wine."

She blinked. "What? All those fancy dinners and they never included wine? I'd have thought it was a staple."

"Not for the Agrestes," Adrien said, his expression darkening slightly. "We wouldn't want to risk losing control and doing something to embarrass the brand."

"And now?"

He gave her a Cat Noir-ish look. "I've run much greater risks for you, milady. Being here, for starters."

She blushed mightily and took another sip of water.

He admired his handiwork for a moment, then nodded at her handbag. "That looks fuller than usual. What's in it?"

"Oh," said Marinette, "well… the results of my free time."

"You have free time?" he said dubiously.

"I know, right? But there's been a little, especially since…" She paused, thinking hard how to phrase it. "Since… certain facts came to light."

He wasn't always dense, she knew. He nodded knowingly. "Since we had to change our nighttime routines?"

"That's right," she said with relief. "I'd started work on these before then, but I've really fleshed them out lately. I have a feeling we'll need them." She'd put her handbag on the table, to the side of the imposing arsenal of silverware. She began to withdraw paper from it.

Adrien jerked his head behind her. "After _amuse bouche_ , but before soup, okay?"

Marinette eeped in surprise and returned to her place as the waiter swooped in. He placed the first course on the table with aplomb, and poured their drinks with something like reverence. "For monsieur… and mademoiselle."

"Thank you," said Marinette.

The waiter gave her a wary look, as if suspicious of compliments that came after just one course, but he nodded curtly and swept away. The pair finished it quickly—it was later than they normally ate and the day had been exciting—and soon Marinette had returned to her handbag.

"These are my newest designs," she said.

"Oh, I can't wait," said Adrien, his eyes lighting up.

Marinette smiled. "I guess someone raised in the industry would geek out on this sort of thing, huh?"

"Well… yeah," he said, abashed, "but it's also because it's _your_ designs."

She blushed at that but kept her focus. "I was also thinking about how I'll use these."

"Use them?" said Adrien, looking up at her.

She didn't return his gaze. "These are part of my plan," she said. "My plan for how we're going to negotiate with your father."

He blinked once, then looked back. With a frown he quickly flipped through them. "I see you're using me as the model for a lot of these."

"What? No I'm not," she said reflexively. "Don't be so narcissistic. You're cute, but you're not that cute."

Giving her a steady look, he picked up several of the drawings and flipped through them where she could see. She winced. "Okay," she admitted, "I can see your point."

"Don't get me wrong, you can use me like that all you want," he said, putting the pictures back with their kin, "but if this is going before father… maybe it's not the best move?"

"Fair point," she granted.

"But the designs themselves are outstanding," he said, looking through again. "I really like this one… oh, and this one! Gosh, this is like a 'greatest hits' album."

"Now you're making fun of me," she said, embarrassed.

"I swear I'm not." He stopped, looked. "Tell me when these go into production," he said, holding up a particular design. "I want one."

"Really?"

"Are you kidding? Once I get my own I might never take it off."

"I bet I could get it off you," she said in low tones.

His jaw dropped. "You're right. You could."

She laughed. "I'm glad you think all this, though."

He nodded again, and flipped through one more time. "Could I make one recommendation?"

"Just one?"

"You need something with spots in it," he said.

"Spots?" she said. "Don't I wear spots enough?"

"Not as much as I'd like," he said, waggling his eyebrows; she rolled her eyes in response. "But it's not just about what I like. Spots are working their way into everyone's lineups."

She frowned. "Spots are out," she said. "They've been out for a while."

"Well, they're on their way back in," he replied. "I've seen it at some of the shows. No one's brave enough to go all-in on spots, but everyone has some on-deck."

"Huh," said Marinette, reaching out for her design deck and flipping through it. "I wonder how I missed that."

"You said it yourself: you wear plenty of spots already," said Adrien. "So it probably never occurred to you. Heck, you're _why_ spots are back in."

"Now I know you're making fun," she said, bristling.

He put a hand over his heart. "I'm not, honest! If you backdate when spots started reentering the fashion landscape, and then subtract how long it takes designs to go into production, you get to right after…" he coughed. "…your first appearance in spots."

Marinette was quiet for a moment as she mulled this over. The waiter arrived with soup bowls. When he'd gone and the couple had made it through most of the soup, Marinette said, "I wonder if Ladybug knows how big her cultural footprint is."

"Probably not," said Adrien. "I think she'd be surprised by it. Did you know she's a tourist magnet now?"

"Shut up!"

"No, really," Adrien insisted. "Paris was the most-visited city for tourists in the world before Hawk Moth showed up. The industry took a hit for a year or so, but after that tourism rebounded stronger than ever. We've… I mean, _the heroes_ have done too good a job. Zero body count, and Miraculous Ladybugs repair everything afterwards, so there's no permanent damage. Now the prospect of a supervillain attack is part of the city's charm. There are specialty packages and everything."

It was almost too bizarre to contemplate superheroes as tourist draws. "How do you know this?"

"You remember that paper we had to do last semester…"

"We wrote fifty papers last semester."

"…the one about how changes in the world change businesses?" Adrien plowed on. "Well, my change was the arrival of Ladybug. I did a lot of research into her impact on Paris."

She gave him a playful look. "That is so close to the creepy line. I wonder if she knows she has a pseudo-stalker."

He shrugged nonchalantly, echoing her look. "What can I say? I pour my attention into things that matter to me."

"Honestly, I'd've thought Alya would do that topic."

"Nah, hers was the development of the camera."

Marinette blinked. "How did you know that but I didn't?"

"Miss Bustier had me organize the papers for grading. Anyway, that's another thing. Did you know the Ladyblog is one of the most-trafficked in the country?"

"I didn't want to know that."

"Oh, it is. Alya's raking in the ad revenue."

"You know," said Marinette thoughtfully, "she does have a new set of binoculars… and a new camera, too. They're both top-of-the-line. And she always has a new phone."

"I believe it. She's doing a good job feeding the public appetite. I know I'm interested in that subject matter, so I can't blame others if they are, too."

"Please tell me you didn't subscribe to the Ladyblog," she said, distressed.

"Of course not. Why would I? I get my information a lot closer to the source."

"I had to check. Gosh, I hope you're not representative of Ladybug's fanbase. I'd hope she means something to more than just horny boys."

"I'm sure she does. Same thing for me, though."

"What, you also hope you appeal to more than just horny boys?"

"That stings. I meant I hope I have fans for more reasons than just my awesome looks, cool demeanor, and outrageous sex appeal."

"I wouldn't worry about that. All of those things are neutralized the moment you open your mouth. Anyone who's heard you talk knows your 'appeal' is probably limited to lonely moms."

"Like you?"

"…augh, I walked into that one." She looked up, bemused. "Sometimes, I think this baby is the only thing going on in my life, and at other times it's hard to remember it's happening."

"That'll probably change."

"Oh? How?"

"When she gets big enough, I bet she won't let you forget."

"She?" Marinette repeated. "You just went ahead and decided it's a she?"

"Maybe I want a girl. Especially if she's anything like you."

"You're hitting the flattery pretty hard tonight," Marinette pointed out. It was not a protest.

A wry look came over his face. "I've talked like this for a while, milady. It's only these days that you're allowing yourself to accept it. I know," he said, cutting off her objection before it started, "I get why you tried to stay distant before. You had good reasons. It was all complicated. I'm just saying, I was sincere then… just like I'm sincere now."

His face was so full of emotion she almost couldn't bear it. "Or you're just trying to get inside my suit again," she teased.

"Well, duh, that too."

She arched an eyebrow. "And who says I'll let you?"

"You will," he said, unimpressed. "Because you want me as badly as I want you."

She held her composure for a few seconds. She was proud of herself for that. But then she laughed and said, "Yeah, you're probably right."

He grinned roguishly.

* * *

"Oh, that was delicious," said Marinette as the couple strolled for the theater.

"So I passed the test?" Adrien said.

"That wasn't a test, silly kitty," she said affectionately.

"I did a good job choosing for you, then."

"Maybe."

He rolled his eyes. "I hope you did as good a job choosing our movie. What are we seeing—some American import?"

"Ugh, no. Those are terrible.”

“Even Basielberg?”

“He’s alright,” Marinette allowed begrudgingly, “but everyone knows he peaked decades ago. American film these days just blends together—all grunts and spandex and sky-beams."

"You're right," said Adrien loyally. "There's only one person in spandex I want to ogle."

He waited for her to ask who. She knew fishing when she heard it, and passed. "No, we're seeing something domestic."

"Sure."

Marinette paid for their tickets, and the two proceeded inside. Before replacing her wallet, she did a check of its contents. "You know, I don't think we need popcorn, do you?"

"Why, there isn't any of the gambling money left?"

"That, and I'm still stuffed from dinner." She shouldered her handbag and grasped his hand with her spare. "Unless you wanted to foot the bill."

"I can't," said Adrien. "I don't have any money."

She blinked. "What, at all?"

"That's right."

She frowned. "How… is that possible? You make money doing your modeling, don't you?"

His mood visibly darkened. "Yes, except that my accounts are all shared. With my father. That's how he made them. The moment money hits the account, it gets transferred to others that aren't shared. He gets to choose how much of the money I see."

"And he chooses 'zero'."

"Typically, yeah. After all… if I can't spend money, I can't do anything he doesn't approve. He still has control."

They approached the door of the theater where their movie was showing. "Sorry for bringing that up," she said quietly.

"It's alright, you didn't know. For that matter, it didn't used to bother me," Adrien said, and his eyes were unfocused as he thought back. "I was comfortable, I wanted for nothing, and money couldn't buy what I really craved."

"Friends."

"Friends, yeah. Social interaction. But also… my father's approval and attention. Having money of my own wouldn't have gotten me that. It'd just have been another opportunity to screw up."

The theater was sparsely populated. Another couple sat in the theater's middle rows, but close to the opposite wall. A lone man sat dead middle in the front row; he was devouring popcorn and staring at the pre-movie ads with equal intensity.

"Let's go to the back," Adrien said.

She shot him a knowing glance. "Out of sight of everyone else?"

"Something like that," he said with a smirk.

They made their way along the row to their chosen seats. They were early; Marinette had budgeted plenty of time between dinner and the movie in case the former went long. They'd been able to take their time with dinner and still beat the previews.

When they were settled, Marinette blurted, "I wouldn't make you share your money."

Adrien's eyebrows raised. "Huh?"

"When… well, after I…" She placed a hand over her still-flat belly.

Adrien's eyes widened.

"It's just the sort of thing we have to think about, because…" Her voice hitched as desperation and fear rose up within her. "Because you will… you know… be with me, right? When…"

"Yes," he said when she couldn't complete the thought. "You won't have to do this alone. I'll be there."

She looked down. "But I don't even know where 'there' will be," she said, and her voice was smaller than ever. "I don't have a plan. It'd be really hard for us all to live with my parents, and… well, we may not be welcome at your father's manor… and it's not like we could get a place of our own, we're both penniless students, and…"

She shivered and shook. He embraced her, then. All thoughts of back-of-the-theater naughtiness were gone, but he held her with no less sincerity or affection. "Hey, it's okay. You'll come up with a plan. I know you will. You always do."

"This is too big," she said, almost sobbing.

He tried to force a smile onto his face. "What, saving the world is a cinch, but this is bigger?"

"It is!" she said, and her eyes flashed with anger. "This isn't a joke!"

"I know it's not," he said, levity gone. "I'm just trying to tell you… I believe in you, Marinette. That's why I'm here."

She curled into his arms, huddling against him, desperate for his presence. "Don't leave me," she whispered.

"Never."

Three advertisements came and went while they sat. Eventually she gave a mirthless laugh. "We're doing this all wrong."

"Doing what all wrong?" he said, flat-footed.

"All this," she said, waving her hand vaguely.

"I still don't get it."

She sighed. "Most people do this in a certain order. Usually the dating comes before the sex and the babies. Did it occur to you that this is our first date?"

"It did, yeah. It's not any less special, though."

"That's not the point," she pouted. "We've got our order all scrambled. This isn't how it goes."

"Well, we're not 'most people'. We haven't been for a while."

"That doesn't help," she groaned.

He changed tacks. "Well, maybe we can still do everything even if we get the order wrong. That's good enough, I think."

That made her go quiet for a moment. He felt her trembling. "You promised not to leave me, right?"

"Right," he said with certainty.

"And that you'll… take care of our baby with me?"

"Absolutely."

"Then…" she looked up at him, soul bared, eyes blinking away tears. "Then… we should get married, shouldn't we?"

His mind was nothing but fuzz. He'd never seen her like this, so raw, so… so…

…helpless.

He saw, all at once, how completely she was giving herself up, how vulnerable she was in that moment. How totally she'd fallen for him.

He started patting his pockets, then, unsatisfied, pried open her handbag.

"What are you… doing?" she said as she began to hyperventilate.

"I'm looking for a ring," he said, holding up random items in her handbag, then putting them aside. "Or something I can use as a ring."

She gave a laugh that was part sob—or maybe a sob that was part laugh. "You wear a ring, dummy."

"But you don't," he replied fiercely, "and if we want to do this right…"

"Just say 'yes'," she said as tears tumbled down her cheeks.

He stopped his rummaging and looked her square as he could. "Yes," he said, voice full of emotion. "Yes, Marinette. I love you so much. Let's get married."

She all but collapsed into the kiss, needing it like she needed air. He wrapped her up, pulled her tight, no thoughts in his head, only the urgent need to try and be as close to her physically as he was emotionally.

The previews rolled. They didn't notice.

When, panting with exertion, they finally allowed themselves to slip apart, he managed a fluttering smile. "If that's not a plan, I don't know what is."

She laughed—a fragile thing, but genuine. "That's nothing like a plan. That's a goal, not a plan."

"Close enough for me," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Just kiss me again."

"I like it when you're pushy."

"I love you, but shut up."

"Yes, my lady."

* * *

They missed the start of the movie. They never did fully grasp the plot. It was a satisfying experience nevertheless.

Some things were more important.

* * *

It occurred to Adrien, as he returned to the manor, that he didn't have a key. He wasn't ever supposed to leave the house alone—he was always accompanied by Gorilla, Nathalie, or someone—so his father had never seen fit to grant him one.

Somehow, he just wasn't that bothered by the prospect. He was floating on air. He'd knock, and if no one answered, he'd sleep on the verge. It wouldn't be bad. Life was too good to be spoiled by-

The gate opened before he could finish the thought. Well, that meant he was expected, at least. He proceeded to the door; that, too, opened in anticipation.

"Good morning, Adrien," said Nathalie coldly.

"Is it?" said Adrien, flat-footed.

"Yes. You have been out a very long time."

"And you look like warmed-over death," he said with a note of worry. Her face was paler than he'd ever seen, heavy bags hung under her eyes, and her slight slouch was worlds away from her normally rigid posture. Surprise melted into concern. "Are you alright?"

"Get inside," was her non-answer answer.

He complied, but he kept his eyes on her. "Have you been awake and waiting for me this whole time?"

"Of course." She shut the door behind him.

"You said I wasn't getting enough sleep," he said slowly, "but you go to sleep after me. And you wake up before me. If it's not healthy for me, it can't be for you."

"It is my role to take care of you, not vice versa," she said, stiffening.

"Then who is taking care of you?" he persisted.

"I am."

"Are you?" he prodded. "Who sets your priorities?"

Her face hardened. "I do," she said icily, "and my first priority is to help Monsieur Agreste. In this case, making sure he doesn't worry himself into an early grave over the misbehavior of his son."

Even as good as he was feeling, this made Adrien bridle. "He made it your job to wait for me so that he could go to bed?"

"I volunteered to do it. I let you escape, so it was my…" she broke off, shook her head. "This is not about me. This is about you. It's late. Go to bed. Now."

"I will if you will," Adrien said.

Her mouth was open, as if to argue further, but she changed her mind and nodded instead.

Adrien walked past her and headed for the stairs. "Tonight was the best night of my life," he said.

"That's not a good thing," she replied. "You weren't supposed to go out. Your father forbade it."

"Yeah, well…" he paused as Nathalie's footing faltered and she grabbed the banister. He stepped down towards her; his hands were in front to help her, but he couldn't figure out how to offer them.

"I'm fine," she bit out before he could speak, "but I'd be better if you didn't torment your father like this."

"Torment? I…" He looked at her. He saw her struggling. His frustration vanished. "I'm sorry. It's not fair for you to have to be the go-between. This isn't your argument. This is between me and father. I'm sorry you're caught in the middle."

She closed her eyes. "Go to bed."

He hesitated. "Tell him… tell him that if he wants to talk about this, he'd better come himself. Don't let him send you."

She looked up. "Be careful what you wish for. Now go to bed."

"…sure." With her cryptic words echoing in his mind, he ascended the stairs into the darkness.

* * *

_Next time: Scorched Earth_


	9. Scorched Earth

Roll, roll, roll.

Work the dough. Work the dough.

The routines of a lifestyle, the routines of a lifetime. Tom Dupain loved it all. The smell of baking bread, and caramelizing sugar, and fresh fruit on its way into pastries. The feel of the dough under his hands. The satisfaction of seeing his efforts take form and make people happy. The ache of useful work.

This part of his life didn't change unless he wanted it to. Other parts, well…

"Good morning, papa," came Marinette's voice.

"You were out very late," chided Marinette's father gently, by way of greeting.

"I know," she said as she came into view. She had the good grace to sound regretful, but she didn't look it. She was never a morning person and she especially wasn't so now, but that didn't dim how happy she looked. She was positively glowing. "It was worth it. Last night was the best night of my life."

He raised an eyebrow, shared a glance with Sabine. "Is that so?"

"You bet," said Marinette, and she began assembling her breakfast.

"Let me help you with that," Sabine said, and she stepped in front of Marinette and started working her buttons. "You must have been absent-minded putting this on, it's all out of alignment."

"I can fix it myself," Marinette protested, but she didn't stop her mother from fussing over her.

"I hope you're not going to be this scatterbrained all day, or class will be a problem for you," Sabine went on.

"Even if I am, that's a fair trade to feel like this," Marinette said with certainty.

As Tom watched, Sabine glanced up, and the two women's eyes met.

"You're doing that thing again," he grunted.

"What thing?" both women asked.

"That thing women do," he said, returning his eyes and hands to the dough. "That thing where they talk without talking, and the men in their lives have to guess what's going on."

"I'll tell you later," Sabine promised.

"If you say so," Tom replied, and his lack of faith was audible.

"You're sure you're alright?" Sabine asked Marinette.

"Better than alright," Marinette said giddily.

Suspicions about how last night had gone were crystallizing in Tom's mind.

"Well, be sure to take care of yourself today," Sabine said.

"I will. I don't think anything can go wrong enough to bother me now!"

Tom snorted in disbelief.

Sabine released Marinette and made her way back to the baking kitchen. "You're not staying out today, are you?"

"No, I'll be back after class," said Marinette. "I have some designs to work on."

"You have big hopes for those designs, don't you?" said Sabine.

"I've had several adopted already, and these are better," Marinette said with conviction. "You'll see."

Tom sighed and stopped work. He looked up as Marinette finished putting food on her plate and started moving away. "Marinette," he called.

She stalled and looked to him. "Yes, dad?" she said. Despite how confident and happy she'd sounded, he could see her hesitate a bit with him.

He found himself embarrassed.

"I just want you to know," he said, trying his best not to sound pompous, "that… whatever is going on… we support you and love you. We'll help you out."

Her shoulders lowered as she relaxed. "It means a lot to hear you say that, dad," she said.

"It'll be easier if you make good decisions," he half-growled. "But we'll do our best regardless."

"Thanks, dad."

"Hey," he called again, catching her as she turned. "This… Adrien… is he a good man?"

"Yes," she said, dreamily.

Tom wasn't sure he believed her, but he knew that tone. It had echoes of the tones her mother had used to him. He knew, then, that Marinette believed, and that her heart was set. "Better than that Cat Noir vagrant, at least?" he grumbled.

Marinette appeared to cough or gag, even though she hadn't been eating. "I like to think that… Cat Noir has grown a bit over the years. But yes," she hastened to add when her father got ready to speak again. "He's better than Cat Noir was when we had… you know… all that."

He'd tried to be gruff. He had this idea that he was supposed to be gruff. But, seeing the way his daughter was acting, hearing the way she was speaking… if he was supposed to help her be happy, and Adrien was making her _this_ happy, well, maybe his job was to…

…to…

…get out of the way.

He melted. "I love you, Marinette," he said.

"Love you too, dad," she said.

"Good luck!"

She glanced at a clock. "Oh, yikes, now I'm way behind! I'll have to eat on the way again…"

Tom shook his head as Marinette scurried off. He looked at Sabine. "How," he asked wistfully, "is a baker's daughter always such a late riser?"

Sabine clucked at him. "She got your heart, but not your body chemistry, darling."

"Hmph." He turned his attention back to his baking. He heard the distant sound of the door opening and shutting as Marinette walked out on her way to school. Finally, he could wait no more. "Do you think she's… well…"

"What?" said Sabine.

"They were awfully late, last night, and out on their own. Do you think they're… you know…"

"I think they're both consenting adults, and what they do is their business," said Sabine, in light tones that nonetheless brooked no argument.

"Yes," said Tom, wrong-footed. "Yes… right. Well." He checked the clock and, knowing his schedule, knew it was time for the next tray to go in. "Here we are," he said, grasping a tray and opening the door of one of the many ovens.

As he shut the oven door, he noticed something in the oven below, one that he hadn't needed that morning. Curious, he opened the lower oven. There was a bun inside, already baked, not on a tray or a baking sheet or anything.

He grasped it and took it out, at a loss. "Hey," he called to his wife. "Do you know what this is about?"

She smiled. "Oh, do I."

* * *

Adrien sighed contentedly. He was showered, dressed, and ready. A bit sleepy, sure, but that was a small price to pay for how magnificent the last night had been. Time to face the day.

He walked to the door of his room, grabbed the doorknob, and walked right into the door.

"Ow!" he said, hand to his face.

"What'd you do that for?" Plagg asked.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Adrien said, smarting, "this door didn't… uh…"

He tried to turn the doorknob. It didn't move.

"Is it locked?" Plagg prompted.

"Sure seems that way, but I didn't lock it," Adrien said. "At least I… can…"

He looked properly at the doorknob for the first time. He should have seen the button to let him lock the door. Instead, he saw a keyhole.

"This is supposed to be the other way," he said slowly.

"What, you can't unlock it?"

"I have no keys at all," Adrien said, his unease growing by the second. He grabbed the doorknob again and gave it a more insistent jiggle and jerk. It stubbornly refused to turn; the door barely moved in its frame.

"Oh, hey, look at this!" said Plagg, zooming over to a table. "This must've come while you were in the shower."

Adrien followed Plagg's motion. The kwami was hovering over a tray of breakfast food.

"But there's no cheese, so who cares?" Plagg said grumpily.

"I don't usually eat breakfast in my room," said Adrien. Every moment he could feel his heart speeding up and beating harder. He recognized this. His fight-or-flight was kicking in. He was in danger.

"I usually go downstairs to eat because my father doesn't approve of the mess I might make eating in my room," he went on.

"Well, here's a note," said Plagg, pointing. "I bet it's permission."

Adrien picked it up and read it.

_Adrien,  
I fear you're in the process of making a terrible mistake. Out of concern for you, I am limiting your ability to inflict further damage until we've had a chance to talk about this.  
Gabriel_

"'Further damage'?" said Adrien hotly. His temper was rising so fast he thought his head might pop open.

"I bet he doesn't know how much 'damage' you could do if you wanted," Plagg sniggered. "Well, if not for the… you know."

Adrien caught only a whiff of Plagg's embarrassment. His heart was pounding in his ears. "Even now he won't tell me himself! He can't be bothered to do it in person! But I won't leave it at this," he vowed, grabbing for his phone. "Someone will know, someone's got to…" It came on, and immediately displayed an "Out of Service" message. "What? No… no, this thing's brand new!"

"Ah, technology," sighed Plagg.

"It's not broken, it's…" realization crashed over him. "My father canceled the account. He set it up, he pays for it… he can deactivate it. He can make it so that I can't call out, or tell anyone."

He looked around. "I can't tell anyone that I'm a prisoner in my own room. He locked me in—I bet he had the doorknob reversed while I was out last night. I'm trapped!"

Plagg was holding an entire stick of butter and chomping on the end of it. "At least there's room service," he said thickly.

"Do you ever not think with your stomach?" Adrien fumed. "I can't think about eating, not now! What am I going to do if I can't leave?" He walked back to his clothes hamper. He picked up the outfit he'd worn the night before. Memories surged through him, memories of Marinette, of promises, of love.

His hands trembled. "I just promised to spend the rest of my life with her," he said, voice quavering, "and now he wants to just… keep me here?! Like an animal in a cage?!"

He walked back to the door, raised his leg, and kicked out with the bottom of his foot.

The door remained so solidly in place Adrien fell over from the recoil.

"That didn't work," said Plagg, scarfing the last of the butter.

"No kidding," snarled Adrien. "Not that you're any help."

Plagg shrugged. "The Biological Imperative cuts both ways. Disable the villains, you disable the heroes in the same go."

"What's the point of being a superhero if I can't even leave my own room?" Adrien stormed. He'd never felt this angry before—he'd never known he could feel this angry. "I'm an adult, he can't keep me here. You hear that?" he screamed through the door. "You can't keep me here!"

Nothing answered him. Plagg refrained from comment. Probably he knew he didn't need to speak.

"There's nothing special about this room," said Adrien. He looked at trophies earned, games beaten, prizes won, and none of them meant a damn thing to him. Next he looked to the windows, and walked towards them. "There's nothing for me here. My life's out there, not here! It's…"

His breath hitched.

"It's out there," he said, more slowly. "With her. That's my life."

He looked out at a wide city he barely knew. It might as well have been an ocean for how vast and impassible it was. He sniffed. "I thought I knew what that meant before, when I told her I'd marry her. But now that I can't get to her, now's when I understand. My life isn't my own anymore. It's hers. And she's out there, where I can't reach."

"I hate to break it to you," said Plagg hesitantly, "but I think your life is in here for now."

Try as Adrien might, he could think of no way to contradict the kwami.

The loneliness descended upon him like a shroud. "I'm going back there," he said with a shiver. "Back to… before. Before school. Before friends. Before… Marinette…"

He stepped up to the windows and placed a hand upon the cold, unfeeling glass. Everything he wanted was on the other side of it.

But his father didn't approve. So he didn't get it.

Adrien despaired.

* * *

"Alright," called Miss Bustier as she rapped a stack of schoolwork. "I have all your papers now. I'll be spending the next half an hour getting a head-start on grading them. Everyone has that time to spend on your reading, on your homework, or…" She trailed off, unwilling to put voice to the reality of what was about to happen. "Well, please keep the volume and drama to a minimum."

"Woo-hoo!" hollered Alix. Miss Bustier gave her an exasperated look, but tucked the exams under her arm and departed without further comment.

"That wasn't too bad," Alya said to Marinette as the class immediately descended into babble.

"No, I think I did alright," Marinette said distractedly. Her gaze kept wandering over to the unoccupied desk at the front of the class.

Alya followed her eyes and understood instantly. "I bet Adrien'll be kicking himself for missing today's class. Where is he, anyway?"

"I wish I knew," Marinette said anxiously. "I've tried to text or call him half a dozen times. Not only don't I get an answer, I never even get connected."

"That's unusual," said Alya, frowning. "What kind of message are you getting?"

Marinette twisted her hands together. "On the texts, nothing. On the calls, 'this number is out of service', or something like that."

"Out of service? That sounds like someone suspended the account." Alya had her own phone out. "You think his dad owns his account?"

Marinette's insides turned to ice. "I'm sure of it," she said.

"Huh," said Alya. "I can't get through either. Same message. Can you think of any reasons his dad would want to shut down the line?"

Marinette's eyes slowly went up to meet Alya's. The distress on her face increased by the moment. "I can think of one," she squeaked.

"Don't you go feeling guilty on me," Alya chided.

"I don't feel guilty, I feel…" She didn't know exactly. There were so many emotions in the mix—fear and longing and anger and, yes, guilt—that there was no way to verbalize it. "And I can't find my backpack on top of it all!" she said instead.

"That's even weirder," Alya allowed. "We don't go very many places on a school day. Besides, who'd want to take your backpack? It's not like you're smuggling diamonds in it or anything."

"No, there's nothing valuable in there at all, just schoolwork," Marinette said. Her sketchbook, her designs, and Tikki were all safe in her handbag. "I don't get it."

"Marinette!" cried Juleka. "We found it!"

Marinette and Alya—and, for that matter, most of the class—turned to see Juleka come in, holding Marinette's backpack.

"Oh, thank goodness," sighed Marinette. "Where was it?"

"In the upstairs bathroom," Juleka said. "The bathroom on our floor was locked, so I went upstairs, and there it was, in a corner under the sink."

"Weird," said Marinette, frowning. "I haven't been up there today. So why was my backpack up there?"

Juleka appeared to contemplate it for a moment, then shrugged and stepped forward. "Well, all's well that ends—"

For the briefest moment, Marinette thought she saw Chloe's foot shoot forward and tangle itself in Juleka's feet.

Juleka tumbled and fell. Marinette's backpack surged out of her hands and slapped on the floor.

From its open top spilled a box's worth of small latex squares.

"Ouch!" said Juleka, but no one was paying her any attention. The small packages, in discreet but unmistakable shapes, had drawn everyone's eyes. Condoms were now scattered between Marinette's backpack and the woman herself, as if trying to point at her.

There was a moment of silence before Alya whooped, "Wow, that's a lot! You get him, girl!"

"Those aren't mine," Marinette said, managing to be heard over the ensuing laughter. "They're not."

"Isn't that your backpack?" said Chloe, standing and moving closer.

Marinette's cheeks burned. "Sure, but…"

"And they fell out of your backpack, didn't they?" interrupted Chloe, taking another step.

"Yeah, but…"

"Any reasonable person would think they're yours, wouldn't they?" butted in Chloe again, closing to arm's length from Marinette.

"Except they're not!" said Marinette, embarrassment reaching a fever pitch. "My backpack has been missing all day!"

"I don't see what that has to do with you lugging around all those condoms," Chloe replied mercilessly.

"Well… someone could have put them in there while it was missing," Marinette said, and even though she knew that's what must have happened she couldn't keep the uncertainty out of her voice.

"Utterly ridiculous," sneered Chloe. "You're actually suggesting someone stole your backpack and then put those condoms in it?"

Something about the too-knowing, defiant look in Chloe's eyes struck a chord in Marinette. "Well, if the shoe fits," she shot back.

Chloe drew back in offense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means!" Marinette charged on.

Chloe scoffed. "I never touched your backpack, and I've never been to the upstairs bathroom today. Sabrina knows, she'll vouch for me."

Sabrina shrank as the whole class' eyes focused on her, but she meekly nodded all the same. "It's true, Marinette," she said apologetically. "She didn't do it."

"Nor would I," Chloe declared triumphantly. "What would I want with your filthy backpack full of condoms, anyway?"

"They're not mine!" said Marinette, somewhere between desperate and pleading.

"Puh-lease, you're just lashing out now," Chloe sneered. "You're trying to shift your shame onto your classmates."

Marinette could feel her own hysteria building up. She was helpless to stop it. "Well, that's what happened! That's what someone did!"

"Yeah?" Chloe said, mustering all her contempt. "And why would anyone bother trying to humiliate a _nobody_ like you?"

_Nobody._

Marinette froze. The word rang inside of her, resonated. Every anxiety that had plagued her for three years solid, every doubt that had stilled her tongue whenever she tried to approach Adrien, came rushing to the fore.

_I'm nobody. Why do I think I deserve Adrien? He's surrounded by rich girls, famous girls, beautiful girls. He could have any of them. He could have his pick, as many as he wants, and I can't compete. I could never even be in the running. I'm too plain. I'm too clumsy. I'm too dumb. I'm too panicky. I'm too flat-chested. I'm too poor. I'm nothing. I'm nobody._

_Nobody._

In that moment, her past two glorious months seemed like an illusion, a fever dream, something she didn't deserve and that couldn't be. It was something out of someone else's life, this wild, impossible fantasy that would vanish the moment he came to his senses and saw her for what she was…

Her head dropped as her eyes filled with tears. Her arms clenched tight to her sides.

Her arm closed against her handbag.

Immediately she thought to what was in the handbag. Her designs, which Adrien had praised so lavishly. Her phone, filled with Adrien's flirts and vows alike. And the ring, the makeshift ring Adrien had insisted on crafting out of the restaurant receipt, because he held firm that his future wife had to have a ring, and that would have to do until he could get the real…

His future wife.

_I'm going to be married._

The clarity of this thought broke over her. She was filled with certainty; the doubt vanished like shadows in the dawn.

And, in her certainty, she found wrath. Enough wrath to use her ultimate weapon: the honest, unbearable truth.

Her eyes opened, tears and all, and she fixed Chloe with a blazing stare. "You're just jealous," she said, "because Adrien chose this _nobody_ —and not you."

The class gasped as one. True outrage filled Chloe's eyes. Her next act was pure emotion. Her hand came up in an open-hand swing. She wanted, Marinette saw, to slap Marinette into next week. This was no weak, hand-only affair just to send a message. Her whole arm was moving, and her torso and hips behind that, all rotating to give the slap the momentum it needed to leave lasting damage.

A veteran Ladybug did not have to suffer Chloe's slap. Her instincts seized control.

From the moment Chloe started moving, Marinette's hips were dropping and her head was ducking. She would give the slap no target. At the same time, her own fist surged forward, coming in low underneath Chloe's guard, headed for her—

_Adrien would feel sorry for Chloe._

With enormous effort Marinette pulled the punch back. It never really launched.

Chloe's hand whizzed over Marinette's head. There was so much force behind it that Chloe stumbled when it missed. The whole class, it seemed, took a half-step backwards, and there was a collective gulp at what had just happened. Marinette stood straight and proud in the slap's wake, schooling her own fist back down, not calm so much as well-controlled.

Chloe noticed. "Did you try to punch me?" she accused.

"You have no room to talk," Marinette said firmly. She could feel the force and heat in her own words; it was a fraction of the force and heat still vibrating inside of her. "But I don't need to defend myself. You can't hurt me anymore."

Chloe's mouth opened, but despite how much her face screwed up in disgust, no words emerged.

"Well, that was interesting," said Lila—a Lila who, Marinette noticed with some effort, had only recently returned to the room. "I must have missed the start of this, but…" she chuckled unkindly. "I wish I hadn't."

"Shut up, Lila," growled Marinette.

"You don't need to be rude," Lila said smoothly, "but you _do_ need to clean up after yourself." She stepped forward, scooped up a handful of the condoms, and extended them forwards to Marinette.

"Back off," hissed Alix, almost jumping down towards Lila as she eyed the latecomer. "She said they're not hers."

"I saw her putting them in her backpack," Lila said shamelessly. Alix jerked back in surprise.

"Yeah, because everyone knows you _never_ lie," Marinette said viciously. "I'm telling you, those aren't mine!"

"Suuure they're not," said Lila, ostentatiously rolling her eyes. "You just… keep…"

The attention on her intensified as her voice faded. "What?" Marinette said impatiently.

"These have been tampered with," Lila whispered. There was a burst of murmurs around the room. Lila held the condoms up to the light. "Sure enough. They've all had holes poked in them."

"You slut!" roared Chloe at Marinette. "You two-euro whore!"

"Who cares if they've been tampered with?!" shrieked Marinette. "They're not mine!"

"A likely story," sneered Lila, "but it sure seems like _someone_ is trying to ensnare Adrien."

"You don't know anything!" said Marinette, who could barely see with how red her vision was.

"We know enough, you twat," accused Chloe. "Your backpack was in an out-of-the-way bathroom because you wanted to drag Adrien there today, loaded with compromised condoms."

"You seduce him, trick him into thinking he's playing safe, then get your bitch-ass knocked up so that he has to marry you or pay you off," picked up Lila savagely.

"You nobody, gold-digging cunt," snarled Chloe. "So that's why you've been attending this school when you obviously don't belong here. You're just trying to leverage the little sex appeal you have into a baby and an alimony check!"

"Well, don't let us stop you," said Lila mockingly, pressing the condoms towards Marinette's face. "By all means, take these—"

"You don't get it!" shouted Marinette, slapping the condoms out of Lila's hands. "Adrien and I love each other—we have for years—and those. Aren't. Mine!"

"I'm sure you'd say they were Adrien's," mocked Lila.

The heat in Marinette overflowed like a volcano erupting. "Ha! The joke's on you! Adrien and I have never even used condoms! That's why I'm _already_ pregnant!"

The room wasn't silent. A couple of pencils clattered to the floor. Marinette was heaving heavy breaths. Her heart was pounding so hard in her ears she felt everyone must hear it.

But no one else was making any sounds. The stillness and shock were absolute.

From the open window drifted in the sounds of brakes squealing, an expensive-sounding crash, and the forlorn roll of a lost hubcap.

Still the class didn't move or speak, apart from the occasional weak blink or stagger. Max's calculator slipped from his fingers and he didn't even register the loss.

Marinette's breathing began to slow, although her chest was heaving as hard as ever. She had stunned to silence even Chloe and Lila, which was gratifying as hell.

Except…

"I…" She forced herself to swallow, even though her mouth was dry. "I… just said that out loud, didn't I?"

A few people managed slight nods.

"I see," Marinette managed. "I… think… I think I should go."

She reached down to her backpack and brushed off a few condoms near or on it. "I should go," she repeated at large as she lifted the backpack and put it on. She felt every eye on her. She burned under their scrutiny.

For the first time she truly appreciated the literal meaning of the word "mortify": a feeling so strong it kills you.

She headed for the door as the silence stretched out unbearably. As the attention became intolerable.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her she broke into a run and a scream.

* * *

Adrien was curled up in a corner. He'd wrapped a blanket around him. Plagg was clutched, somewhat unwillingly, in Adrien's grasp.

For most of his life, Adrien experienced almost no personal contact. It was all distant. Formal. Separate. Cold.

Then the past three years had happened. Three years with friends and classmates and love. Three years of genuine contact and rapport and feeling. All of it capped with a physical-emotional relationship with Marinette that was leagues beyond what he'd thought possible.

People were addictive, he'd realized. Just the idea of being alone again was sending him into withdrawal. Plagg was something, but not what he craved.

There was a knock on the door. Adrien's head jerked up in alarm. He stood up in a rush, letting the blanket fall behind him, then tucked Plagg underneath the blanket just as the kwami was starting to whine about it.

"Come in," Adrien called.

He hadn't expected a crowd, but there was one. Four people in all: a nervous-looking server in front, stoic Nathalie to the side, Gorilla in the back, and in the middle…

"Good afternoon, Adrien," said Gabriel.

Adrien swallowed. He tried to think of something to say; all that came to mind was, "Father."

The server didn't wait. He went to the table where the barely-touched breakfast tray sat and replaced it. Gabriel paid him no mind. "Your disobedience has left me with few options, son."

"You've left me with fewer," Adrien blurted, unable to help himself.

"Watch your tongue," said Gabriel sharply. "You're already in trouble for defying me, don't make things worse for yourself."

Feeling miserable, Adrien nodded.

"My priority, now as ever, has been to keep you safe," Gabriel said. "For a time, I allowed myself to be swayed by your pleas, and let you out. We see now what a terrible idea that was."

"It wasn't," said Adrien. "It was…"

"You are in no position to judge that," Gabriel said, not allowing Adrien to say any more. "You have made foolish and reckless decisions. You have imperiled yourself and our family. Did you think you could just do something I forbade and not pay for it?"

Adrien had no response. Honestly, what had he thought would happen?

Not this.

But something bad, sure…

"That inability to think ahead," Gabriel went on, "is exactly why you need limiting. Left to your own devices, you would put yourself at even greater risk."

"Going on a date isn't putting me at risk!" Adrien protested.

"You truly think so?" Gabriel said icily.

After a moment's hesitation, Adrien nodded.

"You are proving my point," said Gabriel. His voice was like a judge's gavel. "This girl, this Dupain-Chang… obviously she's looking to marry up. Although…" A hint of a cruel smile teased the corner of Gabriel's mouth. "She could hardly marry down, now could she?"

"You've said this before," Adrien said. "You were wrong then. You're still wrong."

"Is that so? Has she seduced you?"

"Has she—what?" said Adrien, flabbergasted.

"It's not a hard question," said Gabriel, even as the people around him squirmed uncomfortably. "Have you had intercourse with that girl?"

"It's none of your business," Adrien said, blushing mightily.

"It is every bit my business," said Gabriel, "because it's your business as well. Marriage can be an excellent way to improve the family's position, either its bloodlines or its finances. Allowing yourself to be hoodwinked by the first girl to flash some skin is a sure way to ruin everything we've—"

"That's not how it happened!" Adrien howled.

"Do you deny it, then?" charged Gabriel. "Do you deny that this wench seduced you?"

"Yes, I deny that," Adrien shot back. "I deny it because _we made love_."

"You know nothing of love," Gabriel growled, low and dangerous.

"You know nothing of me," Adrien retorted.

"Perhaps that's true," conceded Gabriel, his eyes narrowing, "because you appear to be an even bigger fool than I'd feared. I'm told that this girl is pregnant now. Is that so?"

Adrien staggered back, feeling like he'd just been struck. "How did you know that?"

"So it's true!" said Gabriel.

"Yeah, it's true," said Adrien, bolder now. " _I_ did that, and I couldn't be happier about it!"

Gabriel sighed, closed his eyes, and put a hand over his face. "How very disappointing," he said, his words a slap. "This will be a very expensive mistake to correct. At least there's a standard playbook for it. We can make it disappear. We'll send the lawyers out now, before she files an alimony suit. We'll have them sign a non-disclosure agreement, and set up an escrow account to either fund the abortion or pay for…"

"'Make it disappear'?" gasped Adrien, horrified. "'Fund the abortion'? Did you miss the part where I said I couldn't be happier?"

"No, I dismissed it as the unworthy sentiment of a child who doesn't know better," said Gabriel. His voice was so cold his entourage shivered.

"I'm not a child, I'm an adult!" said Adrien, hating how childish the claim sounded.

"Every time you speak, you prove how much guidance and control you still require," Gabriel retorted.

"That's not what I 'require'!" Adrien said. His desperation was boiling over. "I'm not giving up Marinette or my daughter, I'm not pretending they never happened, because I need some love in my life! Love I never got from you!"

He gasped at his own audacity. Both the server and Gorilla looked like they devoutly wished to be anywhere else. Nathalie looked enraged on Gabriel's behalf. But Gabriel himself stood there, as if unaffected, his face like flint.

"I—I mean… I'm s- sor…" stammered Adrien.

"I did not come here to listen to adolescent raving," interrupted Gabriel. "I came here to confirm your mistake. You did. Now I'm informing you that you will be remaining here for the foreseeable future. You'll stay until I'm satisfied with your remorse."

Adrien felt like he'd been shot. "You… you can't…"

"I can," cut in Gabriel, "and I am."

"No! I'll…" For a wild moment, Adrien felt himself thinking like Cat Noir, thinking of if he could get past everyone.

"You'll what?" demanded Gabriel.

The server wouldn't fight; that was fine. But Gorilla and Nathalie would both be formidable enemies, and his father was a complete unknown. Even if he didn't fight, all he had to do was block the door while Nathalie and Gorilla put Adrien on the floor…

As Adrien's desperation peaked, he thought about charging in after all and hoping for the best. Cat Noir did that often enough.

But Cat Noir had Ladybug at his back. She could bail him out of his worst decisions, temper his worst impulses. She alone could bring out his best.

Adrien didn't have her now.

He collapsed in on himself like a house of cards.

"As I said," said Gabriel, apparently pleased, "you'll stay until I'm satisfied with your remorse. I must say you're not seeming very remorseful so far, so we've got a long way to go, I think. Good night, Adrien."

Gabriel retreated and his entourage followed. Adrien felt like he was sinking beneath the ocean as they withdrew from his room. The door clicked shut; a second click confirmed the lock activating.

Adrien dropped to the floor. He curled up into a ball, wrapped his arms around his legs, and sobbed his loneliness to the empty room.

* * *

_Next time: Breakthrough_


	10. Breakthrough

Saturday was hell.

Marinette spent the day glued to her phone. Half the time she was sending texts to Adrien or trying to call him, even though she knew he couldn't pick up. The other half she spent furiously ignoring the calls and texts coming from all other numbers, no matter how persistent or worried they were.

Adrien got two minutes of human interaction over the course of the day. Three times, a server came by with a meal for him. Three times, Nathalie and Gorilla stood by in the doorway, just in case Adrien got any ideas. His attempts at conversation were ignored. Each visit left him feeling more wretched than before.

Something had to give.

Eventually, Adrien hit upon what 'something' had to be.

* * *

"Plagg."

The Kwami of Destruction opened one eye grouchily. "What?"

"Stop pretending to be asleep. I need your help."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Plagg said, floating unenthusiastically into the air.

"You're going to help me escape," Adrien said, voice determined, face set.

"Escape?"

"I can't live like this," Adrien said, and his voice shook only a little as he spoke. "And I won't. I told Marinette that if I had to choose between her or my father, I'd choose her. I didn't want to choose, but now he's forcing my hand. So here we go. I'm busting out of here."

Plagg nodded. "Good on ya. Being locked up doesn't agree with you. Does that mean you figured out how to get through the door?"

Adrien shook his head. "Not the door. That just leads further into the house, and there are more doors—and people—between me and freedom. I don't know what's past there, and I've only got one chance to make this stick. I have to get it right the first time. That means no door."

"Oh, the windows, then," said Plagg.

"That's right."

Plagg frowned. "That's kind of a long drop to the ground, for a human."

Adrien walked to the window and looked out. "It's not too bad. Right in my skillset. If I get a running start, I'll be able to tuck-and-roll, that'll help."

Plagg looked further. "Then across the lawn, and up the fence?"

"No sweat," Adrien said.

"You know you won't be able to do this as Cat Noir, right?"

Adrien scoffed. "I'm in pretty decent shape, for a human. Even without Cat Noir's powers, that fence is not a problem."

"Then you'll be living off the streets?"

"Hardly," Adrien said, and he felt a smile come over his face. "The whole point of this is to get to Marinette. I'll stay with her once I make my escape."

"Sounds like you've got everything under control, then," said Plagg, yawning shamelessly.

"Not exactly," said Adrien. "See, all of that is after I get through the windows."

"What's so bad about that? They're just glass."

"If only." Adrien rapped sharply with his knuckles. "These are shatter-proof—very tough. This is my father's fortress, remember? Everything about it is engineered to keep people out, glass included. I could throw my whole body into it and it would hold up. The only things in here heavy enough to break through—" he gestured at the arcade cabinets along the wall, "—are too heavy for me to lift."

"Whelp, that's a pickle," said Plagg.

"That's where you come in," Adrien replied.

"Huh?"

"You're going to use your power," Adrien explained, "to destroy this pane of glass so I can escape."

"I know your girlfriend had this talk with you," said Plagg, "and I thought for sure you listened to her. Or was all your blood in your dick and there was none left for your ears?"

"I was listening."

"Then you should know I'm turned off," said Plagg. "The Biological Imperative, remember? I can't transform you."

"You can't? Not even for a moment?" Adrien said.

"Nope. Completely off," said Plagg.

Adrien crossed his arms. "The Kwamis of Creation and Destruction are a matched set," he said. "Tikki's more powerful than the others, sure. But she's not more powerful than you."

The black cat eyed him warily. "True," he said slowly. "What's your point?"

"There's no way she's strong enough to completely suppress a powerhouse like the great Plagg," Adrien said ingratiatingly.

Plagg's eye twitched. "You're… not wrong."

"So you must be able to summon up enough strength for a Cataclysm," said Adrien, excitement in his voice, "even through the Imperative."

"We wouldn't get that far," Plagg insisted. "You'd be surprised how much transforming takes out of us. I wouldn't be able to get you enough power to transform, never mind transform and perform Cataclysm."

That daunted Adrien, but only for a moment. "Okay… okay. If it's too hard for you to transform me and Cataclysm… how about just a Cataclysm?"

That took Plagg aback. "I don't think you know what you're saying," Plagg said with alarm in his voice.

"Kwamis can act on their own, right?" said Adrien, mind racing. "At least a little. That's how Tikki cast the Biological Imperative in the first place. If you don't have to waste energy transforming me, you should have enough juice for one act of destruction. Think you've got enough to blast through one pane of reinforced glass?"

Plagg eyed the window warily. "Sure," he said, "but…"

"But what?" said Adrien impatiently. "If you can pull it off, what's stopping you? I'm sure Marinette's got some cheese at her place. Even if it takes all the power you've got, we'll be fine to get to her and recharge."

"You're solving the wrong problem." Plagg's voice, normally squeaky and high, was dropping rapidly, and his eyes were closing.

"Then I don't get it," Adrien said, stumped. "You can't tell me you don't want to destroy stuff. I figured you'd be leaping at the chance."

"Now you've hit the nail on the head, kid." Plagg's voice no longer matched his diminutive appearance. It was a low rumble, like a distant landslide.

"Huh?"

"The problem isn't that I don't like destroying things. It's that I _do_."

Plagg's eyes opened anew, but instead of being basically oversized cats' eyes, they were something infernal. They were larger than before and solid in color, the pupils submerged below a new, bright backlighting. Tendrils of crackling green arced away from them. All around Plagg faded to black, as if even light couldn't touch him.

"We bond with humans to keep us stable and hold us back," said Plagg. The intensity of his gaze made Adrien take an involuntary half-step backwards. "When Tikki gets carried away, you get redwood forests, or the immortal jellyfish, or mayflies. When _I_ get carried away… civilizations burn, and whole orders of life go extinct."

The Kwami of Destruction chuckled. "You have no idea how much fun that is."

Adrien blinked. Combat instincts were kicking in, but against something like this, what good were they? How could he hope to fight annihilation itself?

Then Plagg closed his eyes and sighed. When his eyes opened again, they were something closer to normal—no longer radiating raw destruction, though his voice was still several octaves lower than usual. "But other things are fun, too," he said, resignedly. "If I destroy everything, well, that's fun I only get to have once. If I let humans control my power, I get to have fun for millennia."

He met Adrien's eyes. "I don't think you want to tempt me like this," he said. "I don't think you want me to get the idea in my head that… destroying things on my own… is okay."

"Point taken," said Adrien with sincerity. He forced himself to swallow. Some of his fear went with it.

Plagg gave what seemed like a long groan. His eyes came back to their normal form. "Sorry, Adrien," said Plagg, and he did seem at least a little apologetic. Maybe that was just from his voice being back in-range. "I want to help you out, I really do. I like you, and this is breaking you. But that's a cost you don't want to pay."

"Don't worry about it," said Adrien, but the frustration was surging up in him again. It was making him pace and kick the floor. "Ugh, this is dumb. A stupid pane of glass stops me? Ladybug would have a plan, that's for sure, she'd be able to think her way through this, but I'm Cat Noir and I can't even…" the thought sprang into his head, and it was so obvious he smacked himself in the face. "Of course!"

"Now what?" said Plagg, suspicious again.

"If you don't want the temptation of destroying things by yourself," Adrien said, turning back to Plagg, "then let's make it so you're not by yourself."

He explained his plan.

"This is really dumb," said Plagg.

"But it'll work, won't it?" said Adrien. "You won't be destroying things on your own, so there's no temptation."

"Well…" Plagg looked at the window again. Adrien recognized that look: poorly-veiled desire. "It _has_ been a while, and with the Imperative going, this might be my last chance for another eight months…"

"…because Cat Noir won't let you destroy things for another eight months," said Adrien, selling the conceit.

After several long moments of silent floating, Plagg sighed. "It can't be helped. Alright, you talked me into it."

"Perfect!" said Adrien, pumping a fist in the air. "Okay, I'll pack real quick." He hurried over to his backpack and dumped out its contents. "Schoolwork… ha! What's the point of that now?"

"I've been saying that for years," said Plagg.

In place of his books and binders, Adrien stuffed in as many sets of clothes as he could fit. A few other "essentials" went in, including his phone (even if he couldn't use it to call or text). Then he dashed to the bathroom.

He had half-a-dozen tubes of product in his hand when Plagg caught up. "Those are 'essentials'?" the kwami said with an eyebrow raised.

"For a model they are," Adrien said defensively. When Plagg continued to show his skepticism, Adrien's shoulders slumped. "You're right, Marinette probably has shampoos and soaps at her house."

He put the tubes back, then hesitated with the last. It was his favorite, a scented conditioner that was the capstone of his routine. He shot Plagg a defiant look. "This one is essential," he proclaimed.

Plagg rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself. You're the one who has to carry it all."

"Right." Adrien ran back to his backpack, stuffed the conditioner inside (he had to remove some socks for it to fit, but sacrifices had to be made), and zipped it up. He grabbed black gloves, pants, and shirt from his closet and pulled them on. Then he took a spare belt, looped it around his waist, and let the excess trail behind him. "Do I need ears?"

"Eh, a mask is probably enough," Plagg said.

"You just have to make this difficult," said Adrien, and he dashed to his closet again.

"You know what you call a "closet" is larger than most bedrooms, right?" said Plagg, as he floated along behind Adrien.

"That doesn't mean I have everything," Adrien retorted. "Masks are such a specialty item. But… I think I can improvise." First off the shelf was a gauzy sash. Next was a pair of fabric scissors, meant for trimming loose threads. Adrien held the sash up to his face and put fingers over where his eyes were. Taking the sash down, he jammed the fabric scissors into the spot for his right eye and started cutting. It was slow work; the scissors were sharp but small. Soon, though, an eyehole was in place. He repeated the drill a second time for his other eye.

Putting the makeshift mask over his eyes, he tied it off behind him. "That's mask-like enough, I think."

"Thanks for reminding me how awesome I make you look," said Plagg with a malicious grin.

Adrien scoffed. "So the point of all this wasn't to help us get in-character, it was just to show how much better you are than humans?"

"Why not both?"

"You just cost yourself a slice of camembert," said Adrien, cinching his costume down and steeling himself.

"You're a dirty liar."

"You're just lucky I like you. Well, here we go… Plagg, claws out!"

The kwami zoomed for Adrien's hand—but instead of vanishing into the Cat Ring, he nestled into the open palm of Adrien's hand. Or, rather, "Cat Noir"'s hand. The faux hero cocked his arm back. "Cataclysm!" he shouted. Immediately he felt Plagg start to heat up in his grasp.

He ran for the window. Plagg grew hotter with every step. Soon "Cat Noir" was sure he'd burn through his glove.

When he was just out of range of the window, he planted his foot and swung, as if to punch out the glass. Instead, as his arm came around, he opened his hand like he was throwing a ball. It was a clumsy motion, half-strike and half-throw, but it got the job done: it flung the kwami at the window at point-blank range, almost as if he was hitting the window himself.

There was the ugly shearing sound of disintegration. A misshapen hole formed in the glass as Plagg did his work. Adrien sized it up, and nodded. He'd have to tuck his limbs in to clear it, but it'd do.

He backed away and took another running start. He leapt at the hole, pulling his legs forward to lead with them.

He was out into the night air.

And he started to drop.

It was a long way down, and his lateral momentum was bleeding off. For a heart-stopping moment, he felt suspended, so very far above the ground—

The impact almost caught him off-guard, but he turned it into a roll like he'd learned to do. Most of the air squeezed out of his lungs; a gasping breath restored it. "Plagg!" he shouted.

"Right here," said the kwami, who floated towards him limply. Adrien snatched him out of mid-air and stuffed him into a pocket of his backpack. Then it was a dash across the lawn to the fence. Up and over. He cleared the top.

Another impact as he touched down on the far side, but this was far milder. He only needed a moment to gather himself before he was running full-tilt down the sidewalk, away from his prison.

He gave a wild cackle. He'd done it.

He was free.

* * *

"Marinette!"

"I want to be alone," she huffed. "I told you I want to be alone, mom!"

"I'm not sure I believe you," came the call through the door.

Marinette gathered her frayed wits enough to frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The door opened—no room locks in the Dupain-Chang household. Marinette looked up, ready to fire off a—

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Adrien.

Sweaty, mussed, and wearing some ridiculous accessories, but Adrien nonetheless.

Could it be? Could it possibly be?

"Hi," he said with a small wave.

Marinette rose from her bed as if in a trance. She walked forwards, as if getting closer would let her see more clearly. Things still weren't registering; her brain, tired from overclocking for the past two days, was having trouble putting everything together.

Adrien… here?

He shifted slightly, as if he'd been expecting some kind of response. "I ran away," he said. "My father was… well… I'm here now."

Marinette stepped forward again, so that she was almost on top of Adrien.

"If that's okay with you," he added hastily, "I guess I sort of assumed, since we said… since you asked me to…"

It clicked.

She pounced.

She flung herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him so hard he almost lost his footing, and hit him with the hungriest, neediest kiss of her life.

He was stunned stupid for a long moment. Then his eyes closed and he relaxed into it.

Marinette was panting when she released him. "Well," she said breathily, "I think you're real."

"You think?" said Adrien, looking a bit punch-drunk. "I want to see what you do to be sure."

"Ahem," interrupted a voice.

Marinette sprang back as if stung. "Mom!" she said, blushing furiously, "I didn't see you there!"

"I'm not surprised," her mother said sympathetically. "So… this isn't a long-term solution, our house isn't that large, but we'll help out as much as we can."

"Thank you, madame," Adrien said politely.

"There's no need to be so formal, you're making me feel old," said Sabine, though she was smiling slightly. "Call me Sabine, or… if you want to… I guess you could call me 'mom'."

"I'll try it," said Adrien.

"Now," Sabine continued, "I brought you this sleeping bag…"

"A sleeping bag?" said Marinette, unbelieving. "Really?"

"I can sleep on the couch downstairs," Adrien offered.

"No," said Marinette firmly. "I just got you back. I'm not letting you go."

Adrien looked back and forth between the women, understanding in an instant that his preferences were irrelevant.

Sabine said, "I'm not saying you have to sleep in it. I'm just giving it to you. Trust me, I understand. You can't get any more pregnant than you already are, and I'm under no illusions about how it happened."

Adrien stumbled backwards. "You told her?"

"Well, yeah, I had to eventually," said Marinette. "I told her on purpose, even… more than I can say for a lot of the other people I told…"

"I get it," Sabine reassured the teens. "I do. But your father is still coming to terms with things. They're moving a little fast for his liking. He only just knows you're going out, he doesn't know about your baby yet. It'll help him sleep if he can imagine Adrien's just, you know, camping out for a bit."

"That's still a lot more accepting than my dad was," Adrien said wryly.

"And you can tell me about that some other time," Sabine said, stifling a yawn. "I'm going to bed myself. Good night, lovebirds."

"Thanks for everything, mom!" called Marinette.

The door clicked shut; they heard the sounds of feet going down the stairs. For a moment, neither of them could think of anything to say, as if they were so full of thoughts and feelings it had clogged their throats.

"Is that supposed to be a tail?" Marinette said at last.

"Huh? Oh… yeah, kinda," said Adrien. He blushed and self-consciously moved his hands to it, as if to take it off.

"You can leave it for now," she said, taking his hands. "You'll just have to explain why you're cosplaying Cat Noir when you _are_ Cat Noir."

"The short version is, it's Plagg's fault."

"That's bad form," said Marinette, pulling their hands between them. "Blaming your kwami."

"Once you've heard the story, you'll agree with me. But… in the end, I guess it doesn't matter."

"Nope," she said. She moved one of his hands to his waist, where she left it; her hand looped around his neck. She started to sway tunelessly with him. "I've got you here with me, now. That's all that counts."

"Wow," was all he could manage.

For a moment there was nothing in their world but the gentle almost-dancing and the unheard music, and, of course, each other.

"I'll be honest, though. This isn't how I saw us coming together," she said.

"Me neither," Adrien agreed. "I'm in costume and you're not, for starters. That's like the opposite of our fantasies."

"Everything that's happened is… it's just so much, it's more than I could have imagined. But it all washes out in the end, you know? You're here. And you were always my sweetest dream."

"That's why I'm here, my lady," he replied. "To help you make your dreams come true."

She hummed happily. "Then take me to bed."

"With pleasure."

They melted into each other as the silent music swelled.

* * *

"It must have been the window, sir."

"You say that," Gabrielle said, barely containing his towering temper. "But how?"

"I can't tell you, sir. It looks melted."

"Melted?" Gabriel sneered as he walked up the stairs. "My son is gone and your best explanation is he _melted his window_?!"

"You've gotta see it, sir, then you can tell me."

"Be careful that your employment status isn't the next thing I tell you," said Gabriel. He may not have become an industry leader by shooting messengers, but sometimes, that was all a messenger was good for.

The door to Adrien's room was open. Gabriel strode through, not suffering any distractions. If they wanted him to look at the window, he'd look at the—

No.

No, it couldn't be.

"See what I mean, sir?" said the voice behind him—so far away he might as well have been in Spain. "It looks melted."

"Not melted," said Gabriel slowly. "Destroyed."

"Uh…"

Of course, Gabriel thought. His flunky wouldn't know the difference. But Gabriel did. This wasn't destroyed by heat or force. It was destroyed by the force of destruction itself.

By the Kwami of Destruction.

No no no no no…

There was no mistaking it, not for Gabriel—Hawk Moth had seen this effect for years. In great detail. It was seared into his mind from some of his more spectacular defeats. This was Cataclysm. Cat Noir had broken out his son.

But his son wouldn't have been able to contact Cat Noir. There was no way he could have gotten a message out. That left only one possibility.

He was…

_No._

But he had to be…

_No._

There wasn't any…

_No!_

"Sir?"

"Get out of my sight," Gabriel growled. He heard the distant footsteps indicating his order had been obeyed. He could spare them no mind.

His son was…

"No no no!"

He put his hands on his head as if to hold his skull together, or to hold the thoughts in, or squeeze the facts out. No good. There could be only one conclusion, one cruel, awful truth.

His son was Cat Noir. And he was _so much_ Cat Noir that he could squeeze power out of his kwami even when the Biological Imperative rendered Gabriel impotent.

"No!" he bellowed, even as his mind was racing forward. No matter how much he denied it, he knew better. No other answer was possible.

He staggered out of his son's room, head spinning with what this all meant. If his son was Cat Noir—impossible!—but _if_ he was, then son had been defying father for years without knowing it. The scope of Adrien's betrayal was wider than Gabriel could have imagined. He'd been doing more, and worse, than Gabriel had feared, and he'd been doing it across years. How could he put himself in such danger? What if something had happened to him? What if one of Hawk Moth's minions had harmed…

_No no no!_

This was turning Gabriel in knots. Impossible. No!

What did that mean about Ladybug?

Gabriel almost fell down the stairs. He staggered, swayed, left unbalanced by all of this. Parts of him continued to deny it all. Others were trying to think ahead—oh.

Oh!

The Biological Imperative was invoked when the Kwami of Creation wanted to protect a pregnant host. Adrien—Cat Noir—had recently impregnated his girlfriend. If Adrien was Cat Noir—which he wasn't!—then did that mean his…?!

It fit too cleanly. Gabriel wanted it to be coincidence… after all, Adrien wasn't Cat Noir, he couldn't be… but it all clicked together so neatly, the dots all connected into a blazingly clear picture…

He hit the ground. He'd barely been paying attention to where he was going. Pain spiked in his foot and his side from where he'd tripped and fallen.

He closed his eyes, and in his mind's eye, Adrien blurred into Cat Noir, who became Ladybug, who became Mayura, who became Nathalie, who became his wife Emilie, who became—

With a roar he pushed himself back to his feet. He'd come to his desk almost without thinking about it, but this was perfect. Stepping gingerly, he rounded about, logged in to his computer, and brought up a specialized program. Developed for use in the fashion industry, it was designed to project outfits over images of people to allow for pre-assessment of fit and motion. It was a sort of hybrid between photo editing and digital animation.

Gabriel brought up the models he'd built for the Cat Noir costume and the Ladybug costume. He'd built them ages ago, so that if he ever had a clue about Ladybug and Cat Noir's secret identities, he could fit them onto civilian pictures of his suspects and—

His hands froze mid-keystroke. He didn't know why. It was so hard to think—why couldn't he do this?

Did he _want_ to know? Really? If there was a possibility Adrien was…

Forcing himself to proceed, he brought up a picture of Adrien. He wanted to scream at himself. Adrien was wearing a ring—a ring whose provenance, come to think of it, Gabriel didn't know. He pulled up an earlier picture of Adrien, and another, looking backwards in time, trying to determine when the ring first appeared.

Months passed by, as Adrien de-aged, Benjamin Button-like, before Gabriel's eyes, until—

There, the first appearance of Adrien sans ring. Gabriel checked the date. Before Adrien first went to school. Then he scrolled forward to the next photo—taken after Adrien started school—right after Cat Noir's first appearance—and there was the ring.

Howling like a wounded animal, Gabriel threw the picture deck back to the most recent. He took that photo and merged the Cat Noir costume onto the image of Adrien.

It could not have matched any better.

There it was, the truth before his eyes. "At last!" he said triumphantly, punctuating each sentence with laughter. "I've needed this information for so long, and now it's mine! Now, I can finally triumph over Ladybug and Cat Noir!"

He was laughing so hard tears were coming down his face. "I can seize their Miraculouses, and since they're together it'll be that much easier! I can finally have everything I've always wanted, I can finally…"

Distantly, he realized he wasn't laughing as much, but the tears were still coming. "In one fell swoop I can reduce Ladybug and Cat Noir into Marinette and Adrien, and then nothing… nothing will stand in my way! I'll be free to get what... I've been wanting…"

He slumped abruptly, just managing to catch himself with his hands, and he stood, hunched over his desk, the laughter completely gone now, chest heaving as the tears flowed freely.

* * *

_Next time: Reality Check_


	11. Reality Check

"My 'Brazilian fan club'?"

"Hm?" said Marinette languidly through the remains of her sleep. "That's the strangest sweet nothing I've ever heard."

Adrien chuckled. He'd woken up before Marinette in the bed they now shared. He'd lain silent for a bit, just watching her, but as she began to stir, he couldn't resist any longer. "Years ago, Ladybug dropped off a present for me. I caught her before she made her getaway, and she claimed it was from my Brazilian fan club." He gave her a pointed look that was visible despite the weakness of the early-morning sunshine.

She sighed. "Why do you have to ambush a girl with something like that first thing in the morning?"

"That's not an ambush," he said, and rolled atop her. " _This_ is an ambush."

"Behave," she chided, though without much conviction. "I'd tell you to keep it in your pants, but I see you're not wearing any."

"Neither are you."

"It's a lot hotter with two people in this bed than just me."

"That's what _I'm_ saying—"

"Okay, okay, out of my way," she interrupted, her mood changing in an instant.

He frowned in confusion, but rolled off to free her. As soon as he was out of her way she bolted for the bathroom. Sounds drifted back to him—sounds of someone making a valiant effort to throw up on an empty stomach.

He laid back, stretching out his arms, basking in his surroundings. He'd been here all of one night, and in some ways it already felt more like home than his room in the Agreste manor. Oh, sure, he missed some of the manor's trappings—he was painfully aware of how few outfits he had, and he was quietly nervous about what Marinette's bathroom might be like. The feel, though, was worlds apart.

He actually wanted to be here. That was new. The retching sounds nearby didn't diminish the sensation at all. Maybe it was just because the woman he loved was here, but still.

It helped that he was surrounded by the smells of Marinette and sex—his two favorite smells in the world.

Marinette staggered back into the room, face drooping so much Adrien fancied it might slide from her skull. "I feel bloated and fat," she moaned.

"I promise that you're beautiful," Adrien said.

"Shut up," Marinette replied insincerely.

"Really. Take two steps left."

Curious despite herself, she complied. Adrien sighed as the light fell over her body, bathing her in a golden glow. "That's an amazing sight."

"I don't get how you can say that when I'm so fat," Marinette said.

"Take my word for it?"

"If you insist. But I'm not gonna keep standing here."

"I've seen enough to survive for now."

She walked over to her desk, still not bothering with clothes. Adrien watched her go. There was nothing in the world more interesting than this, nothing he'd rather be doing or thinking about.

So wrapped up was he that he missed her first sentence. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, I was just planning out our day," Marinette repeated.

"What's on the agenda?" Adrien said gamely. "Hopefully none of it involves pants."

"Some of it does. Don't pout, it can't be helped." She picked up her phone. "At ten, we'll be meeting my mom to talk about wedding plans. After lunch, we'll be working on a letter to send your father, asking for a meeting. From three until dinner I'll be doing design work while you do damage control."

"Damage control?" said Adrien, puzzled.

"Yeah," said Marinette sheepishly. "I… kinda blurted out that we're pregnant at school on Friday, and then I ran off. I was in such a funk about it on Saturday that I shut everyone out, but that just made them crazy. It looks like I have…" she pushed a button, "fifteen unanswered phone calls and a hundred and thirty-two unanswered texts."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow. Just what I was thinking. Half of those are Alya and Alix, so that cuts the number down. I still need help answering it all. That's where you come in."

He snorted and passed up the easy dirty joke. "Does that make me your public relations now?"

"I don't know. Would you prefer to do that, keep modeling, or retire from public life to focus on raising the kid?"

That startled him. "I… guess I hadn't thought about that," he admitted.

She smiled indulgently. "Well, you don't have to decide now. But I would appreciate your help today."

"Anything I can do."

"Then," she said, getting back on track, "after dinner we'll do some chores around the house, play an hour of video games with my parents, then catch up on some school reading to help us transition to bed."

A guilty look fell over him. "I… uh… left all my school stuff back… you know… there."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I think I'll be okay sharing with you."

He shook his head. "You're amazing, did you know that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a blush.

"All this planning you've come up with," he said. "You've gotten a handle on our problems and you're fixing them, improving our lives in the process. It's like you're in full Ladybug mode, without the spots."

Her blush intensified. "You're just trying to get in my pants."

"You're not wearing pants."

"Touché."

"Although," he said thoughtfully, "I did see one gap in the plan. It starts at ten. What are we doing before then?"

"Before then," she said, rising from the desk and returning to bed, "you're going to snuggle me until I feel human again."

"I think that may be the best part of the plan," he said. As she crawled face-down into bed, he threw the covers over her and wrapped his arms around her.

"'Best' isn't the word I would use. Not the way I'm feeling."

"It'll pass," he said soothingly… though he couldn't help himself for long. "In the meantime, you can tell me about what Ladybug was thinking when she imagined my 'Brazilian fan club'."

"Oh, gosh, I'm happy I'm hiding my face," she replied. "It was the best I could do in the heat of the moment, okay?"

"If you say so," he said generously.

"Hey, hey, Mr. 'I made sure Adrien is okay'," she said, turning her face enough to give him a baleful look. "Your cover stories weren't exactly Camus, you know?"

"Fine by me. I always preferred Verne."

"Oh, you would!"

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you judging me for my taste in novels right now?"

Her reply turned into a moan, and she turned back into the pillow. "Not right now," she groaned. "Maybe later."

He got the hint and didn't pursue the topic. Instead he just concentrated on being near her. Not too near, he didn't want to crowd her, especially as she was feeling nauseous, but near enough that she would know he was there, and be comforted by it.

Which, he was finding out, was a tricky and indistinct line to follow. He fumbled it a few times, earning grunts of disapproval from Marinette. Eventually, he just settled on his side next to her (but without touching!), with one hand across her back.

After a few minutes of it, he found himself smiling uncontrollably. A few minutes later, he was chuckling. Marinette noticed. "What's so funny?"

He took a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to put it to words. "I feel like… maybe this is real life," he said.

"Of course it's real life," she said, turning her head to look at him.

"No, what I mean is… fighting supervillains, and rooftop rendezvous, and stolen moments of passion… those are all part of our lives. They're fun, and they matter. But they're not what we spend most of our lives doing, are they? Mostly it's going to be more like this. Small. Together."

She gave him a look of blank incomprehension.

He was making a hash of this, he knew. He reorganized his thoughts and tried again. "Right now, I'm trying to make you feel better. Even if it doesn't really work, it's still more of an accomplishment for me than half the trophies in my trophy case. It means more because it's for you, and you value it."

She was frowning slightly, but her gaze never wavered from him.

"None of this is coming out right," he said, dropping his head. "I guess I'm not cut out for big speeches or romantic talk. I tried to make some as Cat Noir, and those always fell flat."

She smiled. "They fell flat because I was saving myself for Adrien, silly kitty."

He gave a pained grin. "Can I just say I love you, then?"

"That's what you've been saying all this time," she said. "By being here with me. That's what it means. My mom always says that acting love is more important than saying love, and you've done that."

"Wow," he whispered.

"But don't let that stop you from saying the words, too," she added slyly.

"In that case, I love you."

Her expression changed again, once more without warning; she was appraising, scrutinizing. Adrien felt anxiety rising despite himself. "What is it?" he asked.

"Don't move," she said. She slumped out of the bed with the grace of a bowling ball, a process he nevertheless found enormously interesting, and went to her desk again. He recognized her sketchbook as she drew it.

She turned her chair so that she could see him and began to draw.

He recognized what was happening. She was using him as her model.

Training kicked in. He kept himself as nearly still as he could manage, while letting his eyes and mind stray. They strayed mostly to her. He watched her intent look, and the way her own eyes would go back and forth between him and the book. He watched the flowing of her hand as it traced and raced.

He looked over her body, drinking in the sight. As often as they'd had sex, being naked around each other was still a novelty. Most of their moments of passion had been quick, stolen things, with one or both of them still partially clothed. Nudity was a luxury.

"Sit up," she said, startling him out of his reverie as she turned to a new page. "Turn thirty degrees."

He obliged her. She gave a few further instructions until he was arranged to her liking. "There we go," she said at last. She started with quick, broad lines on her pad, then looked back. "You know," she said, with less than total professionalism, "you'll be a lot of fun to work with if I ever try designing swimwear."

He allowed himself to smile.

Time passed as she sketched and drew, and he remained still or occasionally shifted as she requested. And this, he thought, was real life.

* * *

"You know," said Rose, "aren't we a little early in our careers for concept albums?"

"Never," said Luka, clicking his way across the screen.

"What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Rearranging the filler songs," he said. He pursed his lips. "Filler is the wrong word," he added before she spoke. "They're our best songs that aren't part of the concept. But they're the ones that I can move around to manage the mood and tempo of the album."

"Most musicians just do singles now," said Juleka timidly. "Or… well, I mostly download singles now, but who knows, I'm probably not a source to pay attention to…"

"You're not wrong," said Luka. "Which is why we'll have a few ways to do this. We'll release it as an album, and a quintet for the main songs, and individually. But this is how I want it. It's the truest form—like a superhero's secret identity, you know?"

Rose and Juleka shared a look. Whatever he said would probably end up going. Luka was The Talent, and they knew it. They were just along for the ride.

"Voila," he said. "The track list for our new album."

Rose and Juleka drew close to look it over; Ivan stayed back, waiting his turn. Several songs they recognized as their standards, and those were scattered around the list. Five new ones had pride of place at the beginning, end, and middle of the album. They were:

Denial ("Don't Tell Me It's the End")

Anger ("It's You, Not Me")

Bargaining ("I'll Wait for Your Call")

Depression ("The Depression Song")

Acceptance ("Wishing You the Best")

"Um… I think the titles might need a little work," said Juleka as diplomatically as she could.

"'The Depression Song'?" said Rose more bluntly.

"Ugh, tell me about it," said Luka, covering his face with his hands. "I worked on it, but everything I came up with sounded too maudlin."

"Hopefully the song isn't too maudlin," said Juleka.

"Yeah," agreed Rose. "'The Depression Song' is one thing, but 'The Depressed Song' is another."

"It isn't!" insisted Luka. "The song is good. It's just the title that's a bit rough."

"How about, 'My Lost Marinette'?" suggested Ivan.

"Ugh, no!" said Luka, holding out a hand as if to stave off the thought. "First, that doesn't match the lyrics at all. Second, this isn't about Marinette."

The band members shared A Look.

"It's about how someone feels when they know someone _like_ Marinette and it goes bad."

Another Look.

Luka sighed. "If I use any real names, it'll start a massive fight, and I don't want to deal with that, especially since I'm trying to stay in 'Wishing You the Best' mode. Fair?"

"Fair," said Juleka. "I was way too close to the last massive fight."

"Maybe you all can help me with the title," Luka said as he reached for his guitar. "We'll play it a few times and then see where we are. Let's get to practicing."

Shrugging to each other, the rest of the band got into position.

* * *

School was ahead of them. Breakfast had been awkward—Marinette's dad was still not fully up-to-speed with having a new permanent resident in his household—but it would be nothing compared to this.

"So, what's the plan, milady?" asked Adrien.

They were familiar words. There was comfort in familiarity. "It's a simple one, this time," she said. "No props, no elaborate timing requirements."

"Color me shocked," said Adrien.

"All that texting yesterday made sure the people we care about understand," Marinette said. "Alya vouched for me—I guess kissing and telling paid off—and you did, too, and I'm more credible than _Lila_. But the rumors will have flown all over school by now. There's really only one thing we can do about them."

"I wait with bated breath."

Marinette reached to the side as the two of them were walking and clasped his hand with hers.

Adrien gave her hand an answering squeeze, then did a double-take. "That's it? Just… hold hands?"

"I think that says it all," she said, looking at him with satisfaction. "If I said something horrifically embarrassing and you're holding my hand anyway, it must be okay, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, frowning. "What exactly did you say again?"

"That I was pregnant with our child."

"I don't mind people knowing that," he replied. "Not anymore. I'm proud."

"Also…" she winced, "…that we'd never used condoms."

"Okay, that tidbit could have stayed private."

"Yeah, I get it," she said, not relaxing.

"Well…" he said, taking a deep breath. "I guess we treat today as just another photo shoot."

"Just another photo shoot?" she repeated.

"My early modeling career was a little rocky," Adrien said. "Not unlike my early school career. It bothered me when so many people were around, paying attention to me. We worked our way through it, though. Photo shoots usually went the same way, and they weren't personal. Nothing scary about them. And when they were different in a way that made me nervous, I'd calm myself with, "just another photo shoot"."

He grinned and started walking forwards, tugging her along with him. "So that's how we're going to get through the day. This is just another photo shoot."

Marinette's eyes were growing steadily wider. "Um… Adrien? I have a little problem with that mantra."

"What?"

Her head snapped in his direction. "I've never done a photo shoot!"

Before he could respond—or, really, think of an adequate response—someone noticed their approach. "There they are, the happy couple, look at them!" That call drew _all_ the attention.

It wasn't just their schoolmates. It was, seemingly, half the population of the school, the occupants of the surrounding buildings, and a substantial portion of the Paris press corps.

Marinette's smile became rather fixed. Adrien did his usual bashful-withdraw-into-myself routine. But neither retreated. They were holding on to each other, after all.

"Hey, hey, give 'em space!" said Alix, moving in front of them and spreading her arms, as if to keep people from getting too close. "Not everyone all at once, they're still our friends, give them a chance."

"Thanks, Alix," whispered Marinette gratefully as most of the crowd took a step back.

Alix looked over her shoulder and winked. "Don't worry. Auntie Alix is here for you."

Marinette didn't know how she felt about that.

"And if you have any questions, ask them through me," Alya said, flanking the group. "I'll answer them, give the lovebirds a break!"

Marinette felt marginally better about that.

It was an ordeal getting through the crowd, and the babbling around them hadn't ceased by the time they made their way to the classroom. They answered only some of the many questions that they were bombarded with; even with Alya handling her share there were far too many, and some were far too personal, to get them all. Most of the crowd followed them in even so.

Adrien felt Miss Bustier's resentment at the size of the fuss they were bringing to her class. He shot his teacher a sympathetic look. It was not returned.

"Miss Bustier," said Marinette, taking a step towards their teacher. "Do you think we could revise our seating assignments?"

The class gave a collective "ooooo", punctuated by laughter. Alya and Nino broke from the pattern by shouting, as one, "We approve!"

"No," Miss Bustier said coldly. "I think all _four_ of you would find each other entirely too distracting. You'll retain your old seats. In fact, please take them now. The bell will ring any moment."

There was more laughter at this, and Alya clapped Marinette on the shoulder. "Maybe next time," she said, steering Marinette back towards her seat. Marinette gave an encouraging look to Adrien. He only half-noticed; he was distracted by the emptiness of the seat across from his.

"Where's Chloe?" Marinette asked Alya.

Alya shrugged indifferently. "Haven't seen her. And after all she said, fuck her. Why?"

"Nothing," said Marinette, before frowning and looking down as guilt bubbled up. "Well, maybe. I… think I hurt her feelings on Friday."

"Ya think?" Alya replied. "Girl, you hacked her feelings into bits, set the bits on fire, and threw the ashes into the Seine."

Marinette goggled at Alya. "That's both graphic and oddly specific."

"I do my best," grinned her friend. "Honestly, I'm amazed she wasn't akumatized on the spot."

"Me too," Marinette lied. She knew why Chloe hadn't been akumatized—the Biological Imperative was doing its job—but she couldn't say that to Alya.

"In fact," Alya said, growing thoughtful, "I've been wondering about that. It's been a while since the last supervillain attack. No Ladybug or Cat Noir sightings, either."

"Maybe they called a truce?" suggested Marinette weakly, staring determinedly at her books.

"Maybe," Alya said, with an expression that implied she didn't relish the idea. "I wish they'd tell someone if they did. I've been running light on content for the Ladyblog, and it's killing my ad revenue."

"I'm sure Ladybug keeps your ad revenue at the front of her mind," was Marinette's cool reply.

Alya laughed, as though Marinette's words had been a joke. "I wish she would! If she has made peace, maybe she'll use the Ladyblog as the way to announce it. What a scoop that'd be."

The bell saved Marinette from having to respond. Miss Bustier stood, drawing the attention of the class. "Good morning. Please take a few minutes to put your phones away."

There was a flurry of movement. Miss Bustier's sigh carried. Before she could speak again, the door opened. It was Chloe. She was dressed normally, with one spectacular exception: a large yellow scarf around her neck.

"I was held up," she said in Miss Bustier's general direction, which, Marinette noted, was less than an apology. Chloe's nose remained upturned as she strutted to her normal seat. Even once there, she paid no mind to Sabrina or anyone else.

Marinette frowned. "Is she cold or something?"

"She can't be," Alya whispered back, "she's wearing capris. Maybe it's just her neck that's cold?"

_Maybe it's just her neck that's_ _ **something**_ , Marinette thought. Before she could talk any more about it, Miss Bustier was getting the class started, and Marinette's attention was drawn to her.

The class seemed to drag on more than usual. Despite that, Marinette found herself much more engaged than before. Perhaps her life had stabilized enough that she could pay better attention.

If this was stable, she scoffed at herself, then what was unstable? Maybe she was just getting used to it.

Library period came upon them, to the class' (and Miss Bustier's) relief. The moment the bell rang, Chloe was gathering her things and sprinting for the door. Marinette watched the concern rise on Adrien's face. He stood from his seat, as if to follow—then he stopped.

He looked to Marinette.

_He's asking permission_ , she understood without words, and her heart melted. His instinct was to look after someone who was obviously suffering. Six months ago, he would have just went, automatically, and Marinette would have burned with jealousy watching him go. Now, he wanted first to spare Marinette's feelings.

_Chloe really can't hurt me anymore_ , Marinette thought. _Adrien is the best_.

She jerked her head in the direction Chloe had taken. Adrien flashed a smile and followed.

* * *

Nathalie grabbed the doorknob with trepidation. Gabriel was intensely private; he did not suffer intrusions on that privacy. Even she, who was in on the dark secrets of his Hawk Moth alter ego, knew there was more he'd never shared with her. She was not such a fool as to pry.

And yet…

Something was wrong. No contact by phone, text, or video. He'd missed three meetings so far and was about to miss a fourth. Nor did she think he was distracted by his mission as Hawk Moth—with the Imperative in place, how could he be?

Did it have to do something with Adrien's desertion? It was Gabriel's prerogative to shut his son away, and Lila Rossi's information certainly justified it. Adrien breaking free didn't just put him right back into danger, it was his biggest act of defiance yet. Gabriel would surely take it personally.

Personally enough to shut down?

She had to check on him. If he chose to punish her for it, that, too, was his prerogative. She opened the door.

The smell hit her immediately, a fruity, alcoholic smell. Wine. Strong wine.

Gabriel was slouched back in a chair, one hand wrapped around an open bottle, his eyelids heavy and his eyes glazed. His hair was mussed, and more than a shadow of facial hair was showing on his normally clean-shaven face. "Wha' 're you doin' here?" he said.

His voice was so slurred and heavy with drink Nathalie could barely recognize it. She closed the door behind her to maintain his discretion—she found that very important all of a sudden. "Sir," she said, "the day is going on without you…"

"…An' it'll keep on without me," he interrupted. "I can 'fford it."

The lax attitude was almost as disturbing to Nathalie as the intoxication. "Sir, what happened? You are… well, you're a mess."

"Am I?" he said, sounding puzzled. He looked himself over. He might've been trying to be critical, and he took his time doing it, but Nathalie could see no thought behind the actions. "I don' think I'm too bad."

"Of course, sir," Nathalie said, trying her very best to be sincere. At the same time, she spotted two other bottles on the floor. Both were open. Both were empty.

"'S been years since I was this drunk," Gabriel blurted out. His torso bobbed forward, like he was trying to sit up or get up, but he abandoned the effort and slumped back again. "No' since my wife… my…"

He scrunched up his eyes, concentrating hard. It brought Nathalie's attention to just how bloodshot and shadowed his eyes were. "Sir, when was the last time you slept? Or ate?"

"'S liquid lunch," he said, lifting the bottle briefly. It thudded back to the table and almost escaped his hand; a small amount of wine slopped out its top.

"That doesn't count," said Nathalie crisply. This, at least, was a problem she could solve. "I'll have the chef prepare something for your lunch, and I'll be back…"

"N-no," slurred Gabriel. "Don' need it."

"I truly think you do," Nathalie disagreed.

"I'm too happy to eat," he said, spreading his arms wide (more wine slopped out of the bottle). "See? Happy, happy, happy."

"Why are you so happy?" Nathalie asked, desperate for some foothold.

This time he succeeded in pulling himself up. He lurched up until he was bent as far forwards as he had been backwards. His voice dropped to a loud whisper. "I foun' out who Ladybug 'n Cat Noir are."

Nathalie's eyes popped wide. "You did? That's… that's tremendous news." She looked him over again. "This is celebration, then?" she asked dubiously.

"No' 'zactly." He pulled the bottle up and gave it a contemplative look, then took a swig before Nathalie could reach forward and stop him. "Ah," he exhaled fruitily, before reaching onto his desk. "Take a look," he said, rotating the monitor.

Nathalie had thought nothing could surprise and disconcert her more than seeing Gabriel Agreste slobbering drunk. She thought wrong. At the top of the screen were pictures of Ladybug and Cat Noir. At the bottom, pictures of Marinette and Adrien. In between, altered pictures of Marinette and Adrien to put them into Ladybug and Cat Noir garb.

"No," she breathed.

"Tha's what I said a' firs'," Gabriel said. "Bu' I couldn' keep sayin' that with _that_ lookin' me in the face."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Adrien knocked his bitch up, didn' he? An' the Imperative is to protect Ladybug while she's pregnant. Well…" He waved vaguely at the picture.

"It just seems impossible," she said, looking from one picture to the other. "Right under our noses, all this time… But this is good!"

"Is it?" he said, cocking his head as though thinking that way hurt it.

"Of course! If we know who they are, we can find a way to take their Miraculouses..."

"Wouldn' work," said Gabriel, shaking his head. "Adrien 'scaped 'cause he can still pull off a Cataclysm."

Nathalie's eyes shot open. "Even through the Imperative?"

"'pparently," said Gabriel. He took another drink of the wine; Nathalie didn't think to stop him until it was already at his lips. He wiped his face with his sleeve (Nathalie knew the price of that jacket, and knew that was an extremely expensive napkin) and sank backwards in the chair.

"Well… there must be something we can do," she said. "Some pressure point we can squeeze. We can withdraw him from school…"

"Not anymore. 'S all paid for already, an' he's eighteen, he can enroll himself."

"We can cut off his accounts…"

"His bank accounts 've been empty, and I canceled his phone before he ran away. You think he's coming back for a phone?"

"We can blackball him from modeling work," she said.

Gabriel gave her a dirty look. "An' here I thought you were smart," he accused. "I'm doin' all that jus' to try and get him to come back. You think he'll give up a Miraculous for that? 'Specially since the momen' we ask he'll know who we are?"

She nodded. "I see. Then I'll go."

He frowned. "Go?"

"And steal the Miraculouses."

"No you won'," he said. "He can use their power, you can't. She can, too, I bet. You'd lose, like all my other villains lost, an' this time they'd know it was me behin' it. Checkmate."

"Never," she said with a shake of her head.

He huffed. "'Sides, they'd ne'er forgive me. If they knew I was Hawk Moth, that I'd been trying to… to…"

He swallowed hard, and said, "I'd never see my son again."

At last Nathalie was able to name what felt so awful about this conversation. It wasn't that Gabriel was drunk, or sloppy, or blowing off his meetings. It was that he looked so defeated.

For as long as she could remember, Gabriel had been an endless font of energy and drive. Every setback made him dig that much deeper; every obstacle caused him to unearth new reserves of patience and strength.

To hear him even contemplate defeat…

It was as if her sun had failed to rise.

She cast about mentally for a solution, an alternative… something. "Maybe… talk to them?" she suggested tentatively.

He looked at her like she'd spoken in a different language. "Talk?"

"They've requested a meeting," Nathalie said. "I have a letter here. It says that Marinette and Adrien want to meet with us."

His head lolled. "What for?"

"It doesn't say, but it can't hurt." She moved towards him. He was trying to bring the bottle to his mouth and not really succeeding. She eased it out of his hand. He moved his mouth towards it, but never got there, and he slumped back in the chair once more.

"'Ey, I was usin' that," he said.

"Of course, sir," she said reasonably, but she tucked it away all the same. "What you need most is sleep."

"No I don'."

"Yes, you do." She moved forward and tried to heft him to his feet.

"Wha're we doin'?" he muttered, more slurred and unsteady than ever.

"We're getting you to bed." With enormous effort, she hauled him up out of the chair. He staggered forward immediately. She tried to get in front and ahead of him.

He didn't fall, but it took everything she had. Gabriel was much bigger than she was, especially with as much weight as she'd lost.

"Walk with me," she said, only just keeping her voice steady. "On your feet, let's go."

It seemed to take about five seconds for the words to penetrate the haze of drink and fatigue. Then he did, in fact, flop one of his feet forward.

"Please, sir," she grunted, starting to lose the battle with his body mass.

It took even longer for him to register these words. Then he started to move. Shuffling steps, each as ungainly and clumsy as the last, propelled him on.

Nathalie, taking pains to keep him steady, moved out from in front of him and over to his side. Hidden amongst her heavy breaths was a sigh of relief. She'd become too frail to carry him or even drag him, but if all she had to do was keep him steady…

Whoops, he almost fell, staggering away from Nathalie and making to topple over. She reeled him back, even preventing him from falling the other direction, keeping him faced forwards.

Step. Step. Back towards his bedroom. It wasn't far from his private office. Good thing, too.

"I tried real hard to beat Cat Noir," he blurted blearily.

"I know," she acknowledged uneasily.

"'ts such a joke," he said, making a laugh-like noise. "What if I'd done it? What if my villains hadn't sucked? Think about it… you thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking," she grunted.

"I hated losin', an' losin', an' losin'… but maybe it was better tha' way… if I'd done it righ', woul' Adrien have surv… survi…?"

He couldn't complete the thought, which was just as well. Nathalie didn't want to answer. Besides, they'd reached his bedroom.

She didn't bother messing with the covers. She brought him to the edge of the bed and let him tumble on to it. She tugged him forward a bit, trying to ensure his whole body was on the bed; he gave the bare minimum of cooperation.

Panting, she looked over her handiwork. He was clothed still, yes, but he was in bed. That would have to do for now.

It occurred to her that she really should have gotten Gorilla to do the carrying.

No, she decided. It was better this way. She couldn't let other people see him in this state. This was her job—her burden to bear.

"There we are, sir," she said. "Go ahead and sleep now."

"Sleep?"

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of the rest of your meetings."

"Don' do anything… I wouldn'…"

"Of course not, sir," she said when he didn't finish the sentence. She turned and walked out.

"Nath'lie," he called as she got to the doorway.

"Sir?" she said, turning crisply.

There was a grumble of noise that might have been speech.

"What was that, sir?"

The noises that came next weren't close to speech.

"Please sleep, sir," Nathalie said firmly.

She closed the door. As a coughing fit came over her, she wished devoutly she never had to see Gabriel Agreste like that again.

* * *

_Next time: Bridging_


	12. Bridging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: referenced self-harm.

Adrien thought it would have been easier to find someone in the library, even a library as spacious and well-appointed as this one. It had the tense, nervous silence common to libraries, which should have simplified things.

Chloe had hidden herself well, though, and was keeping quiet. It took him a while to track her down, hidden as she was at the end of a row on the second floor. She was messing with her scarf when he came upon her, almost running into her before he realized she was there.

She was snarling at him before he could speak. "People don't hide when they want to be found."

"Sometimes they do," Adrien said. His gaze fell upon the scarf. Flushing furiously, Chloe tugged it up so it covered the whole expanse of her neck. Realizing his mistake, Adrien tried to cover. "Just like sometimes people run away when they really want to be with people."

"Well, this isn't one of those times," said Chloe, stamping her foot. "I really do want to be alone, and I especially don't want to be anywhere near you."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" she said, incredulous. "Why not? Because you let yourself be seduced by that whore Marinette…"

"She's not a whore," blurted Adrien.

"Terrific!" shrieked Chloe. "So you hunted me down so you can gallantly defend her honor, huh?!"

"No, I came after you because you needed a friend," Adrien said.

"Oh, that's even better," she sneered. "You chased after me so you could give me the "let's be friends" talk. My favorite!"

"But that's what I've always wanted from you," said Adrien through her venom. "I've always valued being friends. You were there for me before anyone else—while I didn't have anyone else."

"Fat lot of good it did me, though," she replied bitterly.

"I'm glad we were friends all that time," Adrien said, not honoring her retort. "I wouldn't trade that for anything."

"Other than the chance to tap Marinette's flat ass," said Chloe.

"I didn't think it would be a trade," said Adrien. "I thought… you remember Homecoming? Where our class voted to go as a group? I thought it would be something like that."

"Don't you remember?" said Chloe, voice as caustic as ever. "I voted against that idea."

"I always wondered why you did that," Adrien said. "I thought… oh." His eyes widened suddenly. "Because you were hoping I'd ask you out."

"You're a few months behind the curve," she said sharply.

"Well…" his face burned with embarrassment, and a hand was wandering behind his head as an excuse to look elsewhere, but he spoke all the same. "That would be the usual."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"I mean… I never get these sorts of things," he said. He glanced up at her and gave the most sheepish of smiles. "Do you want to know who I thought I loved?"

"If you say 'Marinette', I swear…"

"No! No, that's recent, I promise!"

"Well, what if I don't want to know?" She turned, crossing her arms in a humph. "Do you think it's fun for me to listen to you talk about loving people who aren't me?!"

"If you want a chance to laugh at me, sure."

She whirled back on him with a gaze sharp enough to shred paper. Adrien stuck to his guns. "For the longest time, I was crushing on Ladybug," he said, with so much shyness in his voice it was a wonder it cleared his mouth.

"You've got to be joking," said Chloe flatly.

"I wish I was," said Adrien. He felt Plagg thrashing about in his pocket, knew the kwami was alarmed by the turn the discussion had taken, but he had to see this through. He knew what he was doing. Well, mostly. Sort of. Kind of. A little. Fine, maybe not. But he had to try.

He nodded at her disbelieving look. "It sounds crazy, huh? I didn't know her, not really. I barely ever saw her, and never talked to her about anything other than the latest emergency. I still felt something, though. Or I thought I did." He chuckled in a self-deprecating way. He wasn't making the story up, really—his affections for Ladybug before her unveiling were nothing like what he felt for Marinette now. "It's not like I was thinking much, to be honest. Was it a crush, or just some childish fantasy?"

Chloe side-eyed him. "Falling for a superheroine would be really dumb," she said, cautiously, as though suspicious that she might be agreeing with him on something.

"It was," he said with a nod. "I'm not proud of it. But… what did I know? It's not like I knew any better, and I hardly understood what I was feeling anyway. I'd never had a crush before. There was hardly anyone in my life I could have had a crush on."

A look of offense erupted on her face. "Are you trying to get me to forgive you because you were too dumb to realize how I felt?"

"Not exactly," he said, the sheepish smile vanishing. "I'm saying that I'm sorry for not being considerate of your feelings."

That took her aback. Adrien pressed on. "I didn't want you to be hurt. I was stupid and sloppy, and it came to the same thing. You were hurt anyway. I didn't do a good enough job. I apologize."

Maybe it was how strange it was to hear those words from Adrien, or the fact that Chloe had herself never apologized for anything, but for a moment Chloe seemed to have no idea how to respond. "You… you really think that's it? That just makes it better?"

"No," said Adrien honestly. "Not by itself, anyway."

"Good," snapped Chloe, a little more sure of herself. "Because it doesn't."

"I understand," said Adrien, and he swore to himself that he did. "If you wanted to be angry at me, I wouldn't blame you. I hope, though…"

"Hope what?" she said, crossing her arms.  _ Protecting herself _ , he thought.

"I hope we can still be friends," he said meekly.

She rolled her eyes broadly. "Please, so it's that talk after all? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous."

Her words were disdainful, still—but there was much less venom and heat in them now. "I'd miss you," he said.

A frown flickered across her face. "It's not as easy as you’d like," she said, and her voice was suddenly soft. "The things we do… matter. They have consequences."

"I know."

"You can't just do whatever you want and then not have to deal with the outcome." She shot him a scathing look. "Mr. Adrien-and-I-never-use-condoms-whoops-now-I'm-pregnant."

The words might have been meant to hurt, but they didn't. Adrien smiled. "I understand that as much as anyone, I think. You just said why."

"But you didn't think about it before, did you? Typical." She tossed her head arrogantly. "I'm better about that. It's why I've been on the pill for years, just in case."

Adrien blinked rapidly, but the sight of Chloe didn't get any clearer. "Huh?"

"Do I have to spell it out? You could have been fucking me for ages risk-free. I was ready for you whenever you were, and I would have rocked your world. Instead, you have to reckon with the fallout of your poor judgement."

He cracked a wry smile. "I think I'll manage."

"Good. Because the offer's expired." She gave a decisive huff and spoke with highest condescension. "I am officially off your menu."

"That's fair," he said amiably. It was almost a relief, he thought—he hadn't wanted her like that anyway…

But then the façade cracked. She looked at him, and her pride broke. A look of terrible, forlorn hunger appeared in pride's ruins.

He felt, in that moment, just how strongly and how long she'd ached for him. His nonchalant answer, his affirmation that he'd never ached for her, had devastated her.

"I should get back to studying," she said, and her voice trembled with every word.

"Wait," said Adrien.

"What, chasing after me already? Regretting your decisions so soon?" she said. He could hear how hard she was trying to inject mockery into the words, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Not exactly," said Adrien. "I want to help you with the scarf."

"I know how to tie a scarf just fine, thank you," she said crossly, turning away.

"It's not that. I want to help you explain the scarf to our classmates."

She stopped.

"Everyone's been whispering about it," he went on, and though her back was to him he knew she heard. "I'll help you tell whatever story you want. I just need you to tell me the real reason, so I don't accidentally tell the truth."

He saw her hand rise to her neck. He saw her fingers reaching inside the scarf to touch the flesh beneath. He wondered if she knew she was doing it. He couldn't see her face; he had no idea what she was thinking.

"That's a big ask," she whispered, "from someone who isn't… you know… intimate."

He didn't know how to answer. He was sure there was a correct response—some sympathetic, friendly thing to say that would get her to open up—but he didn't know it. He felt like such an idiot.

"I'm here for you," he said, and even as it came out of his mouth he could hear how lame it was.

She shivered, even though it wasn't cold. "…you are, aren't you?" she whispered, and turned back towards him. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. A second hand rose to join the first. Fumbling fingers worked the scarf's knot. She tugged it loose and drew it away.

Adrien sucked in a breath.

There was a thin line of raw, red skin circling the front part of her neck, like the flesh there had been scraped.

"Is that…" Adrien swallowed. "…a rope burn?"

Her eyes finally looked up towards him. As usual, she wore plenty of makeup; today, it did nothing to conceal the sheer emotion in her gaze. "What if it is?" she said with a shadow of her usual defiance.

"Chloe," he said in sympathy and despair, "did…"

"Did I what?" she demanded with a touch more force.

"Did you do that… on purpose?"

"Of course I did," she scoffed, though her voice still trembled. "This sort of thing doesn't happen by accident, you know."

"I never wanted you to hurt yourself," he said, and there were few words he'd said that he meant more. "I wanted so much more for you. I can't imagine that it'd… that you'd…"

He stuttered to a stop. What good were words at a time like this?

Her fingers traced over it again, and her eyes wandered away from his. "I didn’t actually get that far. I… only got the noose on me, and then I panicked. I scraped myself getting it off. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. I tied the rope to a curtain rod. It would have come down the moment I stepped off the chair. I… think I knew that when I tied it."

With visible effort she looked up at him. "But now I don't know what that means," she said plaintively. "I don't know if I ever really meant it, or if I proved anything by doing that, or if I should just hate myself more for not having the guts to… to take it seriously. Or if it means that I wasn't supposed to, or…"

She put her hands over her face. Her slight frame shook.

"I want you to live," Adrien said, hoping the conviction he felt came through in his voice.

She looked up at him between her fingers. "Really?"

"Really," he said firmly. "I want you in my life, Chloe."

Her hands fell, and the look of desperate hunger returned. "Are you going to put me through this again?" she whispered.

He blinked and opened his mouth, but no words came to mind.

"Are you going to tease me like this a second time?" she went on. "Taunt me with something I can never have?"

"I'll never taunt or tease you," he promised. “I’ll give you exactly what I promise to give.”

“Which isn’t what you promised her,” Chloe said.

“But it’s everything I can. And it’s what you need right now.”

She sniffed loudly. "Hold me?" she asked in a small voice.

It seemed to take him hours to respond, like his brain and mouth were moving in extreme slow motion. He was afraid she'd lose patience, get fed up waiting for him, decide he didn't care—

"Friends hug each other," he said, more to himself than to her. He nodded. "I'll hug you—as a friend. Is that… okay?"

If his response had taken hours, hers took weeks. She looked up at him searchingly, though if she was searching him or herself he couldn't tell.

At last she gave another sniff. "I could use a hug from a friend," she squeaked.

He spread his arms. She walked into them.

And Adrien got a working definition of the word 'platonic'.

* * *

"Chloe! I was looking for you."

Chloe jerked to a stop; Adrien did, too, after another step.

Marinette kept her face and voice bright. "Just who I was hoping to find."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "And why were you looking for me?" she said. Her voice was entirely too shaky to be scathing.

"Because I need your help," Marinette said.

The eyes became mere slits. "Do you?"

"Yes," Marinette insisted.

"Sure you're not just jealous?"

"I’m sure," said Marinette lightly. Marinette could see the telltale signs that Chloe's mascara and eye shadow had run and she'd redone them in haste, but her lipstick looked intact. Marinette's gaze went to Adrien. "Should I be?"

"No," he said.

"Well, that's all there is to that," said Marinette.

She was cheating a bit, of course. She had (despite Tikki's protests) eventually followed Adrien, because old habits died hard. She'd approached just within hearing range. She'd wanted to know exactly what was going on with Chloe. Now she understood.

Which was why it was time for healing.

"You know the poet laureate, don't you?" Marinette asked Chloe. "Or your father can connect the two of you?"

"You can write your own love poetry," Chloe said sharply.

"It's not for Adrien," said Marinette. That took him aback; her lip curved slightly. "It's for someone else we both care about. We have the opportunity to do something nice for someone, and you're the key."

"Me?" said Chloe, skepticism rich in her voice.

"It has to be you," Marinette affirmed.

“You do know I hate—” Chloe cut herself off. She glanced at Adrien, at Marinette’s belly, at Adrien again. She swallowed, and ate her preferred reply. “You’re not my favorite person.”

“I know,” said Marinette. “I’ve never been in your fan club, either. But we can still work together. We can still do nice things for other people. What do you say?”

She felt the weight of Chloe's scrutiny, and did her best to bear it, to keep her resolve firm. She must have passed, because Chloe's eyes returned to their normal proportions. "What do you need?"

Marinette smiled, and explained.

* * *

Three days had passed since Gabriel's (rather substantial) lapse. Three days in which he interspersed periods of calm competence with episodes of brooding. Three days in which his ability to function seemed to change like the weather.

There was a conspicuous lack of alcohol in the manor. Gabriel had a hunch that Nathalie had seen to that. He couldn't bring himself to countermand her. It was probably for the best, he grudgingly admitted.

Without that form of therapy, and without any other moderating influences—for he had long since removed anything from his life that would keep him from doing as he pleased—he oscillated wildly. No focus. No purpose.

He ordered Gorilla into a Gorilla suit, just to see what it would look like. (Answer: not much different.)

He did one more scan of the Grimoire to try and find some reference to the Biological Imperative. (He gave up in frustration thirty minutes in.)

He set off one of the mansion fire alarms out of a desire to share his irritation with the staff. (It didn't work; he had as much aggravation afterwards as before.)

In a fit of pique he shredded sketches for the next three months' designs, then—regretting the act—recreated them from memory.

He firmly denied any requests for conversation from his increasingly distressed kwami, though he did take a break to deliver an angry rant about how useless it was in the face of the Imperative.

He behaved, he finally admitted to himself, like a child denied.

He burned many, many hours trying to scheme a way to the Miraculouses. His schemes ranged from the subtle to the gross, from the simple to the outlandish. They all ended the same way, though. In some, he got the Miraculouses. In others, he failed. In all, Adrien never forgave him.

What was he supposed to do about that?

He didn’t know… which was why he found himself at a café in the neighborhood outside his mansion. He’d bought out the café for an hour to preserve his privacy and render it a suitable meeting ground. If he were to be honest, though, he hardly noticed his surroundings. He was trapped in his own head.

"Sir."

He looked to his side. Nathalie had approached. She spoke again. "Your son and his… friend are outside."

That drew his gaze. Looking out through the café’s windows, he saw the two of them waiting outside the door, casually chatting with Gorilla.

They were  _ holding hands _ , damn them.

"Should I see them in?" Nathalie prodded.

Gabriel took a long, slow breath, desperate for any reason not to answer. But not answering wouldn't make this go away. Those kids were expectant; they'd moved, and were waiting for his answer.

"Yes," he said when he felt he could delay no longer. "Yes. Bring them in."

She hesitated. "Do you have any… additional orders, sir?"

It was a prompt. She knew as well as she did—of course Mayura would see in this an opportunity to gain the Miraculouses at last. Both at once! It should have held irresistible allure.

He couldn't get there. "No," he said. "Just bring them to me. I'll deal with them."

"As you wish," she said, and as usual she held her emotions completely under guard. He might have heard just a hint of disappointment in her voice… or he might have imagined it. Was he projecting, now?

Doubt was such a vicious creature.

Gabriel's brain idled as he watched her go to retrieve them. This should have been a time for planning or preparing. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't know what they meant to do. That meant there could be no planning or preparing. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to not be able to do what he knew needed doing.

All too soon they were standing before him. Still they held hands. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Agreste," she said formally.

"Hello," he said coldly. He would not acknowledge the "good" in her address, and he would not even entertain the idea that she was "welcome".

If she was bothered by his response, she didn't show it. "Thank you for seeing us today," she went on.

Gabriel detected the dynamic immediately: she was leading, Adrien was following. His son, reduced to an appendage, dragged along like a trailer! He turned to Adrien. "Why are you here?" he said directly.

To his surprise, Marinette didn't try to intercept the question. Too bad—he'd been ready for that, had even been wanting it. Instead, Adrien answered for himself. "We want to talk to you. I didn't leave on good terms, and I don't want to let things stay there. We want to discuss how things will go from now on."

Gabriel scarcely dared hope. "You're ready to come crawling back then?"

"That's not what I said," Adrien replied.

"Then I don't understand what we could have to talk about," said Gabriel, his skepticism confirmed. "If you're not here to apologize or make amends for what you've done, if you're not here to discuss your return to my house, we have no business with each other."

The words cowed Adrien, as Gabriel knew they would. His son shrank back. Gabriel could almost see the gears turning, trying to figure out what he would need to do to win back his father's—

"I disagree."

Gabriel, annoyed, turned his gaze on Marinette. She was calm and focused at the same time. He saw her squeeze Adrien's hand; he squeezed back. Gabriel's annoyance redoubled. "I don't recall speaking to you," he said.

"You're speaking to us," Marinette corrected, and to Gabriel's astonishment Adrien nodded his agreement.

"We're together," Adrien said. Gabriel could almost see him finding courage—see him recovering from Gabriel's words. "Speaking to one of us is speaking to both. That's why we're both here."

"So  _ neither _ of you are here to apologize or make amends or come crawling back," Gabriel said. Giving voice to his spite was almost fun enough to make up for the hurt he felt. "There is still no need for you to be here, then."

"And what if we want to be here?" Marinette said.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "What for?"

"We have a message for you."

"And?" Gabriel said impatiently.

Marinette raised her other hand. In it was a large manila envelope. She placed the envelope on Gabriel's table.

"You could have mailed this," he said without moving to take it.

"I don't think you understand what's in it," she replied. "Take a look."

Gabriel kept his eyes on Marinette for a long moment. She was looking back unwaveringly. This confidence, this steadiness—he'd seen it before. Seen it in this girl when she wore spots.

He was impressed despite himself, and hated her for it.

Scowling, he took up the envelope. Inside were pictures. No, not pictures: designs.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"These are my designs for the upcoming season," she answered. "I've been working on them for a while. They're ready to go."

Disgust welled up within him. "The nerve you have! To seduce my son and have the gall to come crawling here looking for a job…"

"That's not what happened," interrupted Adrien. "She didn't seduce me. We fell for each other."

Adrien, Gabriel noted, had stepped forward, probably without realizing it. He'd partially placed himself between Marinette and Gabriel. Shielding her. Putting himself in harm's way for her.

Just as Cat Noir did with Ladybug.

The comparison was so vivid Gabriel could almost make out the mask on Adrien's face, could faintly see the ears standing tall out of the mop of blonde hair.

It did not improve Gabriel's mood.

"I will not be used like this," Gabriel said harshly. "I will not allow my son to be leverage for some whippersnapper trying to break in on my business."

"That's not why we're here," she said again.

"Then why are you here?" he said in frustration. "You keep telling me why  _ not _ , and I'm out of patience."

"We're here to do the opposite," she said. "We're here to show you that we'll be okay. We won't starve. Look at the designs, please."

Despite himself, he did. "Am I supposed to be impressed?" he said.

"They're good," she said matter-of-factly. "They're competitive with anything on the market now. I've won almost every school, city, and province design competition for three years now, and these are better. You can tell, I know you can. You have the best eyes in the business. You can see it."

"I'm not buying these," he growled.

"You don't have to," she replied. "I'm not asking you to. In fact, I'd be more comfortable if you didn't. But someone will, and you know it."

"You're an arrogant one," he said unkindly.

"Look at the designs," she said, as calm as ever.

His eyes slipped to the drawings again, even though he would have liked nothing more than to toss them into the shredder. It was probably just curiosity, he thought to himself. Morbid curiosity.

Flip. What, this design? He would have trimmed that edge tighter.

Flip. What rubbish. That corner could use some expansion, fill it out.

Flip. That color needed to be a lighter shade, otherwise it wouldn't fit in enough outfits to make sense.

Flip. Flip.

On each design he found something to criticize, something that could have been improved. She thought this stack proof? She thought they could withstand his scrutiny? No, they all needed work.

His eyes widened as the thought lingered.

Not "they all needed work". It was, "they were almost ready."

One of his personal mantras sprang to his mind: "You don't polish rocks, you polish gems." He never wasted time trying to revise or perfect designs that would never see the light of day. Works-in-progress were beneath him. This kind of detail-oriented editing, this kind of optimization, he reserved for designs with true potential.

In his criticism, he'd acknowledged her.

He looked up at her, wondering if she saw what she'd wrought. She wasn't looking at him at all. She was eye-to-eye with Adrien, and the two were sharing some kind of wordless conversation.

His gaze sank down again. Flip. Flip…

The next design stopped him in his tracks.

Spots.

Spots, splattered across a dress, and arranged in such a way that the gaps amongst them seemed to be spots themselves. It took no effort at all for Gabriel's visually-oriented imagination to throw that dress on to Marinette, mentally add a mask and a yo-yo, and see Ladybug before him.

The sheer audacity of it…

Did she know? Was this a coded message?

No, he thought shakily. No, they couldn't know. This would be a different kind of confrontation if they knew; they wouldn't have dared meet him if they knew him to be Hawk Moth.

He was shaken even so. It was so bold for her, whom he knew to be Ladybug, to dare put spots on a design. All he had to do was put the picture up next to her and he could see her in it, see it all…

And as she looked back to him for the first time in a while, he did.

He saw the implacable blue eyes that had challenged him from behind a mask. Those eyes belonged to a woman who had seen through his tricks and schemes. She'd walked into his traps and walked back out again. She'd faced down every horror and monster his imagination could conceive. She'd withstood every tyrant and villain his magic could create.

He held no power over her.

Over  _ them _ , he thought belatedly, his eyes nipping over to his son. Adrien wasn’t looking back, though—his eyes were on Marinette, just as Cat Noir’s were always on Ladybug, protecting her, helping her be her best self.

In that moment, he became Hawk Moth again, and felt the weight of his many defeats crashing down upon him all at once. Just as Hawk Moth had never triumphed, now Gabriel, too, had been beaten by these damnable teens.

He couldn't match their eyes. He gathered the designs and returned them to the envelope. "What's your point?" he said, managing to keep his voice very nearly steady.

"We'll make it," Adrien said. "Marinette and I… we're going to live together. We'll make a life together. We're going to get married and raise our daughter. We don't need your help for that, or your permission. And…"

He gathered himself. Before Gabriel's eyes, he could almost see the power of Cat Noir residing in his son. "And as long as we have each other, we don't need anyone else. We'll be okay."

Gabriel knew how sincere his son was being. Knew… and resented it. "I'm glad for you," he said, covering his hurt with sarcasm. "Feel free to rub it in elsewhere. Go away."

"One more thing, first," said Marinette. Adrien visibly relaxed; Gabriel knew that his declaration had taken a lot out of him. "We asked for this meeting because we wanted to."

"And you're leaving because I want you to."

"Please hear me out," she insisted. "We want to give you an opportunity. You were right before—a lot of what we said we could have said in a letter. I hope you realize that there was more to it."

"Like what?" he challenged.

"We want you in our lives," she said, unintimidated. "No letter could show you that. We’re here to prove it. I want to meet my father-in-law, and learn about him, and learn about what went into Adrien. Adrien…" She stopped, looked to her lover.

"I want to spend time with you," he said. His voice was tentative, but genuine. "I always did."

"And there's more," Marinette went on. Her free hand went to her belly, where even now, Gabriel knew, life was growing. "I want our baby to have a grandfather."

_ Grandfather _ . Gabriel's eyes popped wide open at the word.

"We want a relationship, is what we’re saying," she said. Her eyes narrowed. “But you have to earn it. You’ve done us wrong. You tried to keep us apart. You hurt us. There’s a lot you have to make up for first. We’ll give you the chance, but only if you deserve it.

"And if you ever make our relationship about power, or money, or who has to be where, or who owes whom what… we'll shut you out. We don't need that. Our family doesn't need that. I hope, though…" She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. "I hope you'll let love win."

Gabriel sagged backwards in his chair until it reclined. He had no words.

For the first time, nerves flashed across Marinette's face. "That's really it," she said, and she released Adrien's hand to gather up the envelope and the designs. "Thanks for meeting with us, and we'll do as you asked now—we'll be leaving. Would you please think about what we've said?"

Gabriel nodded mutely.

"Thank you, father," said Adrien.

"Yes, thanks… grandfather," Marinette added.

Gabriel felt his eye twitch.

Adrien walked for the door. Marinette turned to follow. Gabriel couldn't help himself. "I like your earrings," he said.

"Do you?" she replied, hand brushing them thoughtlessly. "I've always thought there wasn't much to them."

"Don't lie," he said, which caused her to whip her head around sharply at him. After a moment, he said, "They suit you."

She frowned curiously. After surveying him for a moment, she smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

Then she was gone.

Gabriel could have watched them leaving. He didn't need to. They hadn't really left. They were in his head.

* * *

"We survived," said Marinette, almost falling over.

"Hey, hey," said Adrien as he caught her and steadied her, "it wasn't that bad."

"That took every bit of energy I had," she moaned. "And we still have to study for tomorrow's test, and…"

He laughed. "Can we just relax for a bit? You know, be glad at what we just did?"

"We didn't really do anything," she said. "Nothing's changed."

"You're beating yourself up on purpose now," he replied. "You knew nothing would be resolved today, that was the plan!  _ Your _ plan. We were going to put the ball in his court, let him know the terms, and see what he decides."

"I hope it works," she said. "I hope I didn't do the opposite."

"'Do the opposite'?" he repeated.

"I hope he doesn't think we'll be starving in a month now that he's seen my designs," she explained.

"Why would he think that?" said Adrien, out of his depth. "You said yourself they were your best."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean anything," she said, wringing her hands together. "That doesn't mean anyone will actually like them. No designer knows if their work is any good, if we did no designer would ever go bankrupt! There wouldn't be any flops, and fashion flops all the time! We do our best to draw up what we think is good, and then we hope against hope other people think it's good, too."

Adrien blinked. "So when you said that my father knew your designs were good, you were…"

"Lying," she said with a sigh.

"You were confident," he corrected. They came to a stop at a busy intersection. "You were confident he'd see it the same way you did, or that you could convince him to."

"He was probably just humoring me," she said, moping.

"You really don't know my father. Trust me. He wouldn't have been making those faces or saying those things if he thought your work was garbage. He'd have just said it was garbage and thrown us out."

"If you say so," she said, sounding unconvinced.

"I know so. But I think your confidence won him over, it really did. 'Fake it until you make it' is the phrase, isn't it?"

She winced at the words. "Ew, that sounds awful. Never say that again."

"As you wish, Bugaboo."

"Or that," she added sternly. "Besides, I've never faked anything."

He gave her a devious grin. "That makes me feel much better about myself, thanks."

It took her a moment to register his meaning, and then her jaw dropped in outrage. "You cad!"

"Light's green!" he said cheerily, and stepped swiftly into the crosswalk. She chased after him, like she had for years.

And as she did, she felt a great weight leave her shoulders.

* * *

_ Next time: Offering _


	13. Offering

"So, if you'll turn to page three-oh-two…"

Bing.

Miss Bustier was facing away from the class, but she flinched all the same. Bad enough that her students were texting in class,  _ again _ , they weren't even bothering to be subtle about it today. They needed to at least have the decency to go to silent, dammit!

Bing. Bing. Bing.

As if the first message had opened the floodgates, a barrage of notifications was hitting now. Bing bing bing bing bing… Five minutes left in the lesson and they couldn't wait!

Turning around, feeling a dangerous heat in her chest, Miss Bustier focused on the biggest offender. It was Chloe—her phone was the one giving off the most noise, to the point the other students were laughing about it. For her part, Chloe had the phone openly in her hand, and was nonchalantly flipping through it.

"I thought we'd talked about this," said Miss Bustier, voice shaking with anger. She stomped her way up to Chloe. "Phone," she demanded.

"Going to read my messages, Miss Bustier?" said Chloe in devil-may-care tones.

"I think I will," Miss Bustier hissed.

"Fine," said Chloe, thrusting out her arm and looking away in the same motion. "Be sure to start with number fourteen, then."

"You're not in a position to demand anything," Miss Bustier said—but the odd instruction gave her pause. Feeling that this had to be a trap, she scrolled to the fourteenth text message Chloe had received recently.

It wasn't a text, it was a picture. A picture of a poem, she realized.

Not just any poem, either: it was An Ode To a Patient Teacher.

She recognized the style even as she read; this was a modern thing, possibly even from the current poet laureate. She'd never seen it before. Was this something new? Something… for her?

Closing the picture, her hand trembling slightly, Miss Bustier scrolled up. The next message was from Sabrina. "We love you, Miss Bustier!"

The next, from Alya: "You're the best, Miss Bustier!"

She knew she'd been had. She knew this was a setup. That didn't make it less effective. Text after text in the same spirit filled the screen. She couldn't stop reading them. She drank in the messages of thanks and appreciation until her eyes blurred with tears, and she kept trying until she hunched over with emotion.

Then one of the students stood up and started clapping. Another followed, and soon the whole class was pouring out their gratitude, all of which left her a sobbing wreck.

Unseen to her, Marinette caught Chloe's eye. The bluenette mouthed "You did good" at the blonde. The blonde threw her head as she so often did, as if to say, "Of course I did"—but a slight smile came over her as she continued her dignified golf claps for their teacher.

* * *

Miss Bustier found it very difficult to be objective when grading their tests that day.

* * *

The garden was beautiful.

Emilie had never seen it, of course. For Gabriel, it was like a mix between a love-gift and the Taj Mahal. It was a monument to his love for his wife, and a present for her, if ever she could receive it.

Some days it felt more like one. Others, more like the other. Lately it seemed increasingly like a mausoleum.

His thoughts were going in darker and stranger places than ever these days…

"Sir?"

It was a questioning, cautious voice behind him. "You're not supposed to be here," Gabriel growled at Nathalie. "This is private."

"Yes, sir," she said submissively, but she didn't leave.

For a moment he felt his wrath rising up in him, and started working up the words to order her out. Maybe throw her some invective as a parting shot.

It fizzled. He was finding it hard to be that angry, even when he was supposed to be. He decided he'd rather her be here.

"Nathalie," he said heavily, "have I been wrong, all this time?"

"I don't understand the question."

He looked at his wife, preserved under glass in the center of the garden, frozen in time from the moment of the… he shook his head. The painful longing seeped through him again. She was so very beautiful. Suspended, like nothing had ever happened, like at any moment she'd wake up and everything would be as it was…

_ I want our baby to have a grandfather. _

It had been so long.

So long since he’d held a baby… so long since he’d seen her smile…

"I never dreamed it would be this long," he said. "I thought for certain I would have found a way by now."

He stretched out a hand. It didn't reach her. It couldn't. The glass stopped it.

"I was supposed to wish it better," he said, and the longing had spread up his throat by now so he could taste it, sharp and bitter. "One wish, and things would be back to normal. I'd have my wife again. My son would have a mother. We could be a proper family, then, the way I'd wanted.

"I told myself that, at the beginning. If I didn't have time to be a good father for Adrien, I'd make it up to him by giving him his mother back. That would make it worth it. All I had to do was keep him safe until I’d fixed it…

“I thought that a few times at the beginning, and then I just… assumed it, from then on. I never thought about how much I was pushing him away. I didn't realize how distant he was getting. It never occurred to me how much time I was wasting, how many opportunities I was missing…

"And now he's gone. Now I have no wife, and also no son."

"He's still out there," Nathalie said resolutely. "We'll find a way to bring him back."

"No we won't," Gabriel said wearily. "He's with Ladybug now. She's too strong, and their love is real. I can't break that. Even if I could, he'd know it was me, and hate me for it. Of course he should abandon her and return to me, of course that would make sense, but you can't make someone see sense who doesn't want to see it, and his eyes are too full of her to see anything else."

He balled up his fist and hit the glass encasing his wife. "Like mine were," he said, throat trying to choke the words. "For so long."

"She’s not too strong for you," Nathalie denied. "Inducing negative emotions is your  _ modus operandi _ . Splitting Adrien from Marinette is the sort of thing you excel at. There are so many ways to do it, too. The easiest would be to make it seem like she's having an affair, and…"

"Stop it!" he ordered.

"…I don't understand." Her voice was a plea. He believed her.

"Imagine we do that," he said, his voice empty of passion. "Imagine that I drive Adrien to divorce. Imagine, even, that he never gets wind that I was behind it. Do you think he'll be happy to lose his wife and child?"

"No, but… then he gets you back. And he'll be able to find a new wife, and have as many children as he wants with her. He'll be happier in the long run."

"Will he, though?" His hand traced Emelie’s outline; he felt nothing but the glass.

"Eventually."

Gabriel was struck by the certainty in her voice. He felt none, himself.  _ I hope you let love win…  _ Damn. "If he comes back at the cost of his wife and his child… if he's anything like me, that would shake him apart."

"It didn't shake you apart," she said fiercely. "It made you more yourself than ever."

The longing was getting stronger. He felt it in his chest, as if it had taken over his heartbeat; it was rattling like a wild animal in a cage, trying to get out. He'd given up so much for her, had been willing to commit any crime if it meant seeing her smile again…

And if she came back and didn't smile? What then?

The thought made him tremble.

"If it really causes Adrien that much distress," Nathalie proposed, "then akumatize him. It would trivialize you getting his Miraculous, too."

"What kind of plan is that?" he said. "How long would I need to keep him akumatized? Forever? Could I face my wife like that? Could I tell her that I brought her back by destroying her son’s family and mind-controlling him?"

"Of course you could, because she of all people would understand!" said Nathalie, her voice even more heated, so much that Gabriel had to turn to look at her. The sight surprised him. Nathalie's normally composed face was pale and sweaty, as if speaking with this much force was costing her dearly. Her shoulders were heaving with each rapid breath she took.

"She knows you the way I do," Nathalie went on. "She knows how much devotion you have, and how much you're willing to give. She knows you'll become the devil itself if that's what you have to do to help her. It's inspiring. It's what she loved about you, I'm certain of it. I would know."

Gabriel blinked in surprise.

"And if your son can't see that," Nathalie spat with a new viciousness in her voice, "then fuck him. He doesn't deserve a father like you. He doesn't deserve a father who will do literally anything for the ones he loves."

Her eyes fluttered; she swayed on the spot. Gabriel's alarm spiked. "You deserve that kind of devotion in turn," she swore. "You deserve people to show you as much commitment… as you've shown her… you should get as much as you… give…"

Nathalie's eyes rolled up in her skull. She toppled. She made no move to break her fall and landed hard.

Gabriel staggered back as if struck. "Nathalie?" he called. "Nathalie!"

Of course she didn't answer. It was happening again. He'd seen this before—he'd seen a woman in his orbit crumpled lifeless at his feet, paying the price for his ambition.

He blinked, and Nathalie became Emilie. He blinked again, and it was Nathalie. Past and present collided and merged—it was happening again—another woman who loved him, burning up her life as fuel for his—it was happening again—

All these years gone past and he'd learned nothing, he'd accomplished nothing, all he'd done was draw in a new woman to sacrifice on the altar of his pride and  _ it was happening again _ .

"No—not again! Not again!"

* * *

Armand D'argencourt stood beside his protégé, and looked to the side to speak. "All our hopes rest on you, today."

"I know."

"You have the potential to bring great honor to our school."

A roll of the eyes, hidden by the facemask. "Yes, sir."

"Try not to be nervous," said Armand, wringing his hands together behind his back.

"I'll try."

He half-turned. "Whatever happens," he said, his voice barely concealing its panic, "I'm proud to have been your teacher all these years."

"I won't let you down."

All around them were dozens of fencers. Each was yearning for the same thing: to represent France as part of her national team and extend the country's edge in the sport. It would be a (hopefully not literally) cutthroat competition amongst the cream of the country's competitors.

"This truly is a brutal field," fretted Armand.

"I thought we weren't being nervous."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Armand.

"But you know, I have an advantage over the field."

"You do?" said Armand, surprised.

"Yes."

"And it is…?"

"None of them are Adrien Agreste," Kagami said with relish. "I've already won."

* * *

"Marinette? Hey, Marinette!"

Hearing her name being called, the woman took her headphones off and turned away from her computer monitor. "What's that?"

Adrien was giving her a bemused expression. "Was it the song or the volume that made it impossible to hear me?"

"Probably the volume," she said. "This song isn't that bouncy."

Adrien leaned in. "'The Song of Depression'? Again?"

"It's good," she said defensively. "I like it."

"I still can't believe that's the title."

"Well, the title is the only thing wrong with it. I downloaded the whole album! Kitty Section really hit it out of the park, I heard they're getting mainstream recognition for it. Which reminds me… I was going to make a call about that…” she made a note to herself.

Adrien regarded her. "Marinette," he said slowly, "you do know what that album's about, right?"

"Sure," she said. "It's a concept album about the stages of grief."

Adrien's mouth was open to correct her, to point out that it was the stages of grief of a very specific failed relationship—and he couldn't do it. Nah. There was no profit there. "And how’s the little girl doing?” he said with a glance at Marinette’s now visible belly bulge.

Marinette gave a look that was equal parts annoyed and indulgent. “ _ We’re _ doing fine, thanks. That’s not what you came up here to ask, though. I can tell.”

Adrien’s face fell. “Have you heard anything from my father lately? It's been a couple of weeks since we saw him."

"I haven’t," she said with a frown, "but since you brought it up, I saw this article recently…" She swiveled back around and pulled it up.

Adrien read aloud. "'Paris' top fashion designer, Gabriel Agreste, continues his conspicuous absence. His brand has now missed submission deadlines for several fashion shows, and there have been no sightings of him in over three weeks. While Mr. Agreste is famously reclusive, the lack of new designs is unprecedented, and has left outside observers wondering about his health and status. There have been no official statements of any kind from brand spokesmen.'"

"I guess we're not the only ones who haven't heard from him," Marinette said.

"I hope he didn't do anything drastic," Adrien said. "After I just talked Chloe off the cliff…"

"Don't go feeling guilty," Marinette cautioned him. "If it was anything like that, there would be  _ some _ kind of statement, wouldn't there? It wouldn't be a mystery anymore. Nathalie would be able to say something about it, at least. Now that I think about it…" Marinette frowned and scrolled through related articles. "In the past Nathalie acted as his voice at times like these, and I don't see any references to her, either."

"Huh," said Adrien as his hands wandered over to her shoulders.

"What are you… mmph." Her eyes shut involuntarily as he started working his fingers into her shoulders. It was a clumsy, amateurish attempt at massage, but as tightly wound as she'd been, it still worked for her. "I might have to ask you to stop in a year or two."

He smiled. "As long as my lady…"

"Nope! Not there. Back up."

"Sorry," he said, repositioning his fingers.

"Therrrrre we go," she purred, her head dipping forward. “I get the feeling I’ll be asking you to do that more as I swell up.”

“No. Please. I could never.”

"Here I thought sarcasm was beneath you. I should’ve known better.”

“...I still hope he's okay," Adrien said.

"Me too. Although…" She bit her lip.

"Although what?"

"It has created a bit of an opening," she said. "I feel bad for saying this, but… If Agreste is out of the running this season, it opens up market share for everyone else. I'm getting a lot of traffic from other firms about my portfolio."

"Oh, is that what all this is?" he said, using one hand to gesture at the screen.

"Yes. And I've been getting some sniffs."

Adrien put his nose in her hair and breathed in. "All I smell is conditioner.  _ My  _ conditioner." He looked down at her with a frown. "You've been using my conditioner?"

"You're such a dork!" she giggled. "I'm serious. The other firms took note of the design contests I won as a student, but Agreste brand had first rights, so they didn’t act. Still, that meant they’d heard of me, and I had a record of success. I asked Jagged Stone for a letter of reference, and he came through big time. All that got me in the door, and now…”

“Now your native talent does the rest,” Adrien said, beaming.

She flushed but didn’t deny it. “I think I can make some sales—maybe even the whole portfolio."

"For how much?" Adrien asked.

"…that part isn't clear," she said, her mood dropping. "No one's using numbers yet, they're still talking about pricing structures—whether it's flat fee or commission, what incentives they want to attach to it…"

"We never studied anything like this in school," Adrien said, looking over her shoulder.

"I suppose they thought they could leave it to the colleges," she replied. "I wish I knew something about it. I feel like I’ll get taken advantage of no matter what I do."

"When you do get paid—and I know you will—will it be enough to get us into a place of our own?" Adrien asked significantly.

"I… don't know. No one's talking amounts yet, and the payment structures all kick in at different times, and, well, Paris is expensive." She looked down. "Why do you ask? Did my dad drop another hint?"

"'Hint' is way too subtle."

"I thought my mom told him we could stay as long as we needed."

"She did, and he’s on board, but he was asking us to think about how long we ‘needed’ to stay. He was being helpful—kinda—offering to help set up a budget and do the planning and all that, and give advice on how to set up accounts and the like. He just said that us being out of the house should be the goal."

She sighed. "That's valid, but ugh."

Adrien laughed. "You were the one who told me life was going to be a lot more and a lot harder than just celebration sex, remember?"

"I hate being right."

“Although,” he said, and his voice took a sultry turn as he dropped his face towards the nape of her neck, “if you wanted a little more celebration sex to balance the scales a bit, I can help you with that.”

She felt his hot breath washing over her, and the merest hint of teasing lips. Her skin prickled. “You make a compelling argument…”

His hands began to drift from her shoulders. “Careful,” she warned, anticipating his destination. “They’re sensitive.”

“I’ll be gentle.” 

He was as good as his word as he lovingly caressed her breasts—first through her shirt, then dipping underneath the hem and rising back up. She hummed contentedly. “Good to see you’re still in practice. Keep it up-- just like that.”

“Can do. Are they getting bigger?”

“You wish,” she said, and she felt a hint of inadequacy rising again.

“It was just curiosity,” he said, nuzzling her hair as he continued his ministrations. “They’re perfect—just like you.”

Marinette flushed from the praise and the first sparks of arousal… right up until Sabine's voice made it to the room from downstairs. "Marinette! Someone to see you!"

Marinette and Adrien shared a look. "Were you expecting someone?" they both asked.

"That answers that," Marinette said, and she reluctantly disengaged from Adrien and rose. She grinned wickedly and groped him through his pants, earning a squawk before she twisted out of his grasp. “We’ll get back to this later.”

Plagg poked his head out of his basket. “Looks like you can get cock-blocked even without the Kwami of Blue Balls,” he teased Adrien.

Adrien made a face at Plagg as he, rather uncomfortably, left the room.

The visitor was an impeccably neat middle-aged man, carrying a small briefcase, and looking like he could wait all day if required. A tidily-trimmed mustache and expensive-but-not-ostentatious suit completed the image of a careful businessman—the sort who was pleasant to do business with, but unbearable to work for.

He watched the couple come down the stairs with polite interest. "Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Chang, I presume?" he said. His voice sounded as if it had been starched as much as his clothes.

"That's us," said Marinette as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Very good. My name is Gerard Maison, of Maison-Durban Realtors. Is there a place we can sit and talk?"

A glance between Marinette and Adrien confirmed they were equally confused. "Why do we need to talk to a realtor?" asked Adrien.

"I have been asked to convey to you a gift," said the realtor. "A rather generous gift. There are pictures to look at and, hopefully, paperwork to sign, and all of that works better at a table."

"You can use the dining room," called Sabine.

"Thanks mom," said Marinette, though she rolled her eyes in the same go. Parents couldn't be helpful without being nosey at the same time, could they? "This way," she said to Gerard.

When Adrien and Marinette were seated together opposite Gerard, the realtor put his briefcase on the table and opened it, click-click. "This," he said, handing them a stack of photos, "is the property in question."

"Property?" said Marinette. "Wait… the 'gift' is a house?!"

"An apartment," corrected Gerard, "but real estate either way."

Both teens' jaws dropped.

"I see this was not expected," said Gerard smoothly. "The chain of custody has been unusual. The property was sold to us from a different realtor, with specific instructions that it be granted to the two of you. We would be entitled to a substantial commission for ensuring that the two of you accepted it. The company that sold it to us wasn't the original, either. Here, let me show you."

"This isn't one of your company's apartments? It was given to you to give to us?"

"From another company," Gerard agreed, "whose instructions were to sell the property to us. They got it from a third company."

"This is making my head hurt," moaned Marinette. "Why?"

"Not to minimize costs," Gerard said. "Each of the three realtors in the chain has made a substantial profit. All this does is make sure nothing can be given back."

"No takebacks?" Marinette said, growing suspicious. "So this is a gift from someone who wanted to make sure we couldn't give it back?"

"Exactly," said Gerard. "The original buyer was…"

"…Gabriel Agreste," Adrien said.

For the first time, Gerard looked surprised. "I thought you weren't expecting this."

"I don’t know anyone else who would buy me an apartment, and I recognize his style," said Adrien, sighing. "Let me guess: there was no direct communication, and no message to pass along to me?"

"It was all done through intermediaries," Gerard admitted.

Adrien looked up. "Typical. Even now, he has no personal touch."

"Well, I don't want it," said Marinette firmly. "We told him the terms when we visited, remember? We won't put ourselves in debt to him."

Gerard drummed his fingers against each other, as though marshalling his thoughts. "With respect, mademoiselle, there is no debt. There are no strings that I can see. It is already paid for—even the closing costs for the official transfer of ownership. The apartment might as well have come to you in a box with a bow.

"By the same token, Monsieur Agreste can't take the apartment back, even if he wanted to. There are three realtors and four transactions between him and you. He has no way to influence either you or the property."

"Of course you'd say that," said Marinette. "You already said you get a commission if we accept."

"Actually, I come out ahead if you refuse," Gerard said. "If you were to sign this document that says you will not accept the apartment, I lose the bonus, but I retain the apartment, and I can put it back on the market. I promise you this, mademoiselle, I would turn a fine profit reselling it, and a bigger one renting it out."

He reached into the briefcase again and brought forward a set of photos. "It's eighty square meters—a splendid size for a young couple just starting out. Two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms. It comes modestly furnished, with a couch, refrigerator, window air units, and master bed. It's a second floor unit on the end of the building, so you only have two neighbors. The building is only thirty years old and boasts modern insulation and plumbing. The neighborhood is good, with low crime, several nearby grocers, and a metro station less than a block away. It’s walking distance to the closest park and the closest elementary school."

With every sentence came a photo or a map illustrating the point. Adrien was overwhelmed. "It all looks perfect," he said, flipping through the photos. "Marinette, this is more than we could possibly get ourselves, even if your whole portfolio sold."

"That's the trick, isn't it?" she said. "That's the hook. If we take this, he can hang it over our heads forever."

"I don't think so," Adrien said. He stopped gawking at the pictures long enough to look at his bride-to-be. "Father has always wanted me close by and supervised. If he couldn't have someone watching me, he wanted me somewhere he could see. That's not like this."

He pointed at the map. "This apartment is halfway across Paris from the Agreste manor. It's closer to your folks than to him. And it's not like he's in the real estate business, he doesn't own any of the other properties around here—right?" he said, glancing nervously at Gerard.

"None I'm aware of," the businessman said.

"Plus, we don't have to stay there if we don't want to," he said. "Gerard, are there any restrictions on what we can do with the property?"

"None whatsoever. If you take it, it is well and truly yours. Re-sell it, rent it out, live in it, demolish it—your choice no matter what.”

"I know this," Adrien said to Marinette, looking her in the eyes. "I know my father, at least this part of him. He didn't do this for control. This is the opposite. He's making it so I don't have to come back to him. He's…" His eyes widened as his voice dropped. "He's setting me free."

Silence fell at the table. Adrien seemed shocked beyond words at his own statement, while Marinette reacted to and echoed her lover's amazement. Gerard had the good sense not to interrupt them as they processed this new idea.

"Wow," Marinette whispered at last.

"Yeah," said Adrien, hardly any less astounded. "That's got to be what this is. It's more than permission. He's making it possible for me to be away from him. He's making it so I don't have to come back—just like we told him. He's letting me go, and helping me do it."

He sank back in his chair. "I was afraid he'd never do that," he admitted.

"It seems," Gerard said tactfully, "that this is a lot more complicated than I was led to believe."

"A bit," Marinette agreed.

"Well, the good news is, you don't have to decide today. Take some time, think it all over. Here's my card—one for each of you—contact me when you're ready. There's no rush. Call me once you've worked it out and we'll meet again."

"Can you leave the paperwork?" Marinette said.

"It's already yours," Gerard said, shutting his briefcase. "Thank you for your time, monsieur, mademoiselle."

Sabine's voice floated in from the next room. "Would you like something for the road, Monsieur Maison?"

"That sounds lovely," he said as he walked out of the dining room. 

Neither Marinette nor Adrien watched him go. They were preoccupied.

* * *

_ Next time: Slip _


	14. Slip

The bell rang. It was like the starting gun of a footrace. The later on in the year, the earlier the useful part of the day seemed to end; all the students were long-since prepared to make their getaways. With exams days away, most of them seemed to think they were at capacity already.

"Thank you, everyone, see you tomorrow!" Miss Bustier tried to call over the rush of people on their way out the door.

"Bye, Chloe," Sabrina said, as she turned at the usual spot.

Quick as the strike of a viper, Chloe snagged Sabrina's arm. "Oh, no," she said. "You're coming with me today."

"Wh-what?" said Sabrina as Chloe dragged her along. "What's going on?"

"You're going to be off to college in the fall," said Chloe. "Do you think I'd let someone in _my_ orbit go to college with _your_ wardrobe? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous! We're going shopping. And before you ask, you're not allowed to pay."

Sabrina was several steps behind, both physically and mentally. "Wait, you're buying me new clothes?"

"Duh," said Chloe.

"But… I can't possibly pay you back…"

"Stop," said Chloe firmly. "No talking like that. Shopping is a joy, but worrying about how much it costs takes all the fun out of it. I forbid you from looking at any price tags while we're out, do you understand?"

"Okay," Sabrina said slowly. "But… why?"

"Haven't I already explained?" Chloe said, sounding much put-upon. "I want you to look good when you go to college. I won't have you go embarrassing me." Her expression softened fractionally. "Besides, you had a point about Lila, and that deserves a reward. Now stop making me drag you and come on."

Equal parts flattered and bewildered, Sabrina allowed herself to be tugged along.

From behind them, Mylene leaned into Ivan and said, "Chloe doesn't really know how to friend, does she?"

Ivan smiled. "Baby steps."

* * *

Lila burned with resentment. She watched her classmates as they filed out of the classroom. Why couldn't one of them be cleaning the room today? Why did it have to be her? Sure, sure, there was a rotation, but that had never stopped her before. Half the time she was able to get someone else to do it in her place. She had "another appointment", or an ill-defined and temporary "injury", or some other excuse.

Not today, though. Today she hadn't been able to get any bites. She was stuck doing this for real.

What good were classmates if they wouldn't even do your work for you?

Not to mention that they'd rallied around Marinette. That tramp! She'd wriggled out of Lila and Chloe's slut-shaming her by being a bigger slut (and having less shame) than they'd expected! Marinette wasn't even being ostracized for getting herself knocked up. If anything, she was more the center of the action than ever. Her getting with Adrien—Adrien!—just made it all worse.

Lila hated them all, but she hated Marinette the most. Oh, if she had a chance to put Plan B into action…

The classroom emptied. Lila, grumbling, moved towards the back of the room. She was already trying to determine how little she could do to say she'd "cleaned". Maybe she'd…

Marinette's backpack.

Lila blinked, unable to believe it for a moment. The universe didn't just hand out gifts like this, but as she looked again, she couldn't dispute it. She recognized it well—she'd stolen that same backpack to plant condoms in it, after all. That had to be it. So, Marinette had left her backpack behind at her desk. Preggo brain, no doubt.

Oh, but this was wonderful! Lila felt herself light up with glee. Plan B was a go after all.

Hurrying back to her desk, she unzipped a smaller, hard-to-see pocket in her own backpack. Inside was a contraband batch of papers: answer keys to some of the much-ballyhooed exams.

They'd been hard to get, but, luckily, Max was as oblivious as ever. He hadn't noticed Lila piggy-backing off his computer room access. From there it was a lateral move to steal a teacher's credentials, and the rest was child's play. Lila had already made copies for her personal use, but this set… ah. This set would destroy Marinette. All she had to do was plant it in Marinette's backpack, then ensure the backpack would be found. It wouldn't be hard; she'd done exactly that with the tampered-condom scheme.

Now it would be trivial to…

The door burst open as she was putting the papers inside. She didn't jerk or make any sort of motion that would imply guilt, she was too smooth for that. Instead, she rose up again to see who'd interfered.

Alix waved jauntily. "Hey, Lila," she said as she approached. "Can't believe I forgot my lunchbox, that would have made me unhappy tomorrow…"

"At least you remembered now," said Lila. As she spoke, she subtly rotated her wrist, so that the papers in her hand were obscured from Alix's view.

Even so, Alix stopped as she got to Lila. "Whatcha got there?" she asked, pointing at Lila's hand.

"Just some papers I found while cleaning up," said Lila casually. "I was going to throw them away."

"In Marinette's backpack?" was Alix's dubious reply.

"No, I found them around there, I was picking them up," lied Lila.

"What is it, then?" said Alix, stepping closer. "Anything good? A love letter to Adrien, maybe?"

"I respect people's privacy," said Lila, rotating her wrist again and pushing the papers further behind her. Internally, she was swearing vehemently. Alix was ruining everything!

"Ooh, so it is personal? Now I want to see it more!" Alix chuckled. "I guess Alya's rubbing off on me a bit."

"No can do," Lila insisted.

Alix sighed. "You're no fun. Well, it can't be helped." She stepped to the side. "Trash can's over there."

Lila blinked. "What?"

"You were going to throw those papers away, right?" said Alix. The good humor had vanished from her voice. "Don't let me stop you. Go ahead."

"What, so you can fish it out of the garbage once I step away?" said Lila, going on the offensive.

"It's not like it's anything bad, is it?" said Alix with an audible edge.

Aha! So _this_ was how Lila could make Plan B work after all. "Actually, it is," said Lila. She slumped her shoulders and made her expression one of disappointment and sadness. "I'd never believed Marinette capable of this…"

"What?" said Alix, surprised.

"It's the answer key to some of our exams," said Lila, revealing the papers to Alix. "It looks like she got a copy of them and was going to cheat her way through."

"No way," said Alix, shaking her head firmly. "Not Marinette."

"I never would have believed it, either, not after that big stink when she was expelled years ago," said Lila with as much mock-regret as she could manage. "I thought she'd want to stay super-clean after that. But here we are."

"I had so much trust in her," Alix said, face downcast. "For her to do something like this…"

"It's just awful, isn't it?" said Lila, inwardly dancing with delight. "I didn't want anyone else to have to deal with that, that's why I tried to hide it from you earlier. I was just going to turn in what I'd found on my own, come what may. I'm sorry."

Alix shook her head, still not looking up. "It's not your fault. It's Marinette's."

"I wish she hadn't done it. I wish… a lot of things." Lila sighed. "Now there's nothing to do but hand this over to the authorities."

Alix met Lila's eyes. Her face was grim. "I'll do it."

Lila frowned. "Do what?"

"I'll turn it in," said Alix. "Marinette's my friend… at least, I thought she was… I should handle this part."

Oh, that was even better! Lila preferred using other people as the vectors for her plans. That was why she'd locked the bathroom door and forced Juleka to use the upstairs bathroom, setting her up to discover the condom plant. That way Juleka became the person to spring the trap, not Lila. It gave Lila plausible deniability, and the flexibility to pivot the next deception in any direction. Now Alix was volunteering to fill the same role. It was perfect.

"I can't let you do that," she said, hiding her intent. "I found it, I need to bring it in."

"I insist," said Alix firmly. "If Marinette's going down for something she did, I have to see it."

Lila resisted the urge to fist-pump. "If it has to be that way…"

"It does," Alix said. "Just go ahead and put the papers back, and I'll take the backpack to the principal's office."

"Alright," Lila said, injecting reluctance into her voice. She walked to the backpack again, put the answer key inside, and handed it over to Alix.

"I wish it didn't have to be this way," said Alix, taking the backpack.

"Me too," said Lila.

Alix walked for the door—but then paused and turned back. "Hey, Lila?" she called, her face inscrutable.

Lila had been pretending to look busy; she hadn't expected this. "Yes, Alix?"

"This isn't Marinette's backpack."

The words took a long time to register. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering with her voice, Alix unzipped the backpack further, so she could fold it almost in half. Exposing the lower part of its back wall, she revealed a patch that had been sewn on. The patch had an inscription which Lila had to peer at to read.

_This backpack is not, and never has been, Marinette's. -Mylene_

Incomprehension reigned. "Huh?"

"This was a honey pot," Alix said, and Lila was unnerved by the look in her eyes. "You just got caught with your hand in it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Lila—she needed more information to set up the next lie.

"Max knew someone had used his administrator's access to get the answer keys," Alix said, "but he didn't know who, or why. Luckily, someone let slip a little plan you'd been working on to punish Marinette for bagging Adrien."

Lila was truly alarmed now, though she kept her appearance cool. "Is Chloe telling tales on me, then?"

"Sabrina, actually," said Alix, and her expression was now clearly one of savage triumph. "Turns out she had an attack of conscience after the last confrontation—honestly, who saw that coming? She knew there was another plan you and Chloe had talked about. When she heard Max telling me about the data breach, she knew you'd initiated your backup plan, and she spoke up."

"I still don't know what that has to do with me," said Lila. "That's still one person telling tales."

"Which is why we set up this trap," said Alix. "Sabrina told us how your plan would work. Chloe bought a backpack the same type as Marinette's. Rose and Mylene doctored it to look like hers, and sewed in the patch. Alya put a camera inside to prove that you were the first person to open it, and a second camera that's been recording this whole conversation. Nino sits right in front of Marinette, so he planted the backpack for me. When you saw an opportunity to pin the answer keys on Marinette, you couldn't resist the bait. Then I came back to retrieve it and slam the door."

Alix crossed her arms. "You always wanted to be popular, Lila. And look at this! Half the class worked together to expose your lies. You were our class project. I bet you're loving the attention."

"The attention of my classmates setting me up?" snarled Lila, unable to help herself.

"You lived by the sword," said Alix mercilessly. "Time for you to die by the sword."

As Alix zipped the backpack up, Lila spat, "I bet Marinette's so fucking proud of herself."

"Marinette?" said Alix as if confused. "She had nothing to do with this. She doesn't even know. This was _my_ plan. Marinette, you see…" she sighed. "She outgrew revenge. She believes in second chances, and third chances, and forgiveness. She's been trying to get people to treat you nicely."

Alix smiled a cruel little smile. "She's a much better person than me."

She exited the classroom, leaving Lila alone with her defeat.

* * *

The silence had gotten uncomfortably long.

On one side of the table, Tom Dupain, his hands folded together as if in prayer, his face set.

On the other side, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, whose eyes were darting around the room restlessly, and Adrien Agreste, whose hands were hidden underneath the table and clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Tom's breathing was long and slow and loud. Every time he inhaled the teens tensed, expecting this to be the moment he spoke; every exhale caused them to squirm without relaxing. Marinette chewed the inside of her cheek until it was raw. Adrien's eyes kept darting for the open door.

The silence had become almost unbearable when Tom finally broke it. "So."

Adrien couldn't find the wits to make a "needle pulling thread" joke.

"It's come to this," Tom said.

The teens glanced at each other.

"You don't really understand how all this works," Tom said. "I guess I didn't explain it adequately. Everyone thinks they can just figure it out on their own, but it's not that easy."

The teens nodded somberly.

"I wish I'd known earlier," Tom continued. "I could have given advice, helped you think through it. Ah, youth. Always charging into things. I understand. The first step is so natural, so seductive, that it's easy to lose sight of what you're getting yourselves into."

Marinette flushed. Adrien's toes curled as he hid a cringe.

"Now we have to make the best of it," Tom continued. "It won't be simple. It takes hard work, constant effort, and dedication."

"We can do it, dad," Marinette said, though with less confidence than she was trying to project.

"Can you? I'm not so sure." He huffed as he reached beneath the table. "I know for a fact that you've never, in your life…"

He plopped down a stack of spreadsheets. "…balanced a checkbook."

Adrien fell out of his chair. Marinette gaped in shock. "Are you kidding?!"

"It's a serious matter! Here's the paperwork for joint filing of taxes, we need to work through your deductions, and these are applications for joint bank accounts—I got a few for different banks, I didn't know which one you'd want, my bank is on top…"

Marinette double face-palmed. Adrien unsteadily returned to his chair. "This was all about… our finances?" he said shakily.

Tom lost control of his laughter and looked to the side of the room. "Did you get it?"

"I got it," said Sabine giddily, holding a camera and obviously recording the entire scene.

"Mom! Dad!" groaned Marinette.

"Ah, we'll be enjoying this video for _years_ ," Tom said happily.

"I might have to upload this one, at least for my friends," said Sabine.

"Don't you dare!" said Marinette.

"I know, I know. It'd go viral in seconds, but that's the problem." Sabine put the camera down and smiled. "We love you both, you know."

"I am being serious about this," said Tom, gesturing to the paperwork. "This is something important to sort out as soon as possible."

Marinette dragged her hands back down her face so her eyes were visible. "And here I thought this was going to be some relationship talk."

"There'll be plenty of time for those," Tom said. When the teens jerked in response, he hastened to add, "I'm not saying we have to, or I disapprove. I mean, I… er…" he chuckled at himself. "You're not taking the path I had in mind, but, well, I love you, my little girl, and you seem to be doing alright so far…"

"What your father's trying to say," said Sabine, stepping in and putting a hand behind his back, "is that we'll do our best to help you, and as long as you love each other and are trying to make it work, we'll throw our support behind you."

"Right," said Tom, seeming relieved by the intervention. "It's fine. For now. We're here to help. I like to think that after twenty years we know a thing or two about making a relationship work, even when the start is, uh…"

He glanced up at Sabine, who gave him a pointed look. "What I mean is we love you," he said swiftly.

Marinette and Adrien smiled. "That's a relief," she said.

"We want your relationship to bring you as much happiness as ours has brought us," Sabine said. "And don't let your father fool you, the beginnings aren't as dissimilar as you think."

"Darliiiing," he protested.

"Huh?" said Marinette.

"You never did the math comparing your date of birth to our marriage date, did you?" said Sabine, her eyes twinkling. "Let's just say, you were a small baby, but you weren't born premature. _Someone_ had trouble waiting for the honeymoon. It hasn't changed much, either," she added, rubbing her own swelling belly.

"Oh, god," Marinette said as she double face-palmed again, "why are you telling me this?"

"We're just saying we believe in you," Sabine said. "We trust you can make it work, with enough love and effort."

"But you really do need to be careful when you file jointly," Tom said, pointing at the paperwork and leaning forward. "It's usually advantageous and much simpler, but there are some things to look out for…"

* * *

An hour later, as Marinette and Adrien staggered out of the room, each holding a ream of paperwork, Adrien said, "I wish he'd just yelled at us."

"Me too."

* * *

"I dig the threads, peds," said Jagged Stone.

The members of Kitty Section had known they were coming to see Stone, and still couldn't help but be awed by the legendary rock star. Ivan's eyes could hardly be wider. Juleka was hiding behind him. Rose seemed to have lost the ability to close her mouth. Only Luka had the wherewithal to say, "The honor's ours, sir."

"Please, please, no rock-'n'-roller could stand to be called 'sir'," said the aging star with a wave of a callused hand. "You can't stick it to The Man if you're called 'sir'. If you're called 'sir' it means you _are_ The Man, and at that point you're just an empty husk, you know?"

Maybe he was trying to emphasize just how rebellious he could be, but Jagged Stone leaned back so far in his chair it was almost parallel to the ground and slung a leg atop his desk. He was wearing leather, heeled boots, the same shiny black as his outfit. The epaulets built into his shoulders jiggled showily as he settled. One thing could always be said about Jagged Stone: he was never confused for anyone else.

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Stone spoke. "I was serious about the getup, though, it's a good look." He gestured to Kitty Section's band outfits. "That's a Dupain-Cheng number, isn't it?"

Surprise layered upon surprise. The members of the band nodded dumbly.

"Called it," Stone said triumphantly. "I'd recognize that girl's work anywhere, I like her style." He turned his head towards his assistant, Penny, whose white shirt-and-jacket combination looked positively sedate by comparison to Stone. "Of course," Stone went on in a stage whisper, "I cheated."

"Did you?" she said, content to play along.

"Marinette's the one who suggested we bring these kids in while we were chatting about my new album cover. Doesn't miss a trick, that one."

Only Luka was exempt from the shared glances that followed. He'd gone rigid at the mention of Marinette. "Mr. Stone, we're very flattered to meet you, but we're sure you're very busy and don't want to waste your time. Your invitation mentioned an opportunity…?"

"Relax, kid," said Stone expansively. "There's no rush here. In fact, I think I'd like to jam with you a bit."

"With me?" said Luka, his voice cracking.

"Yeah," said Stone, and he swung upwards out his chair so quickly it was alarming. "It's always nice to play a bit with the next generation, as long as the next generation loves music like I love it. Come here."

Stone walked to one wall of the enormous room, which seemed to serve multiple functions. The desk implied Stone used it for business, but there was also a huge sofa facing an even bigger television, a cluster of microphones and speakers in one corner, and an entire wall covered in guitars of manifold sizes and shapes. Stone grabbed two and extended one towards Luka. "Your axe, my friend," he said. "Let's see how you swing it."

Luka accepted the guitar. Instincts kicked in. After strapping it over himself, he played a chord, and automatically began tuning it. After three chords, he paused. "Could you play a gee-major?" he asked Stone.

Stone seemed pleased by the question, but he still asked, "Why?"

"Because if we're jamming together," Luka said, seeing the test, "it's most important that we be in tune with each other."

"Rock on," Stone said with a smile, and obliged. Luka continued tuning, but working from Stone's sound, not the one in his head.

Eventually Luka gave a satisfied nod. "Ready."

"I'll start," said Stone. "I'll give you twelve bars. Like so…"

Stone started playing. Rose gave a happy clap; all of them recognized the song readily. It was one of Stone's most famous songs: up-tempo, full of easy-to-follow progressions that bounced high, then low, then returned. Ivan's head was bobbing with the beat before he realized he was doing it.

Luka was ready. The moment Stone finished his twelfth measure of music, Luka picked it up, continuing the song.

Stone waved him down immediately. "Nah, nah," he said, before pointing at Luka. "You do you, bro."

Luka was struck dumb for a moment. He'd left the last song in an unsettled place, and he didn't know how to recover. Stone wanted him to play one of his own songs?

Unsure and out of sorts, Luka launched into Kitty Section's standard, an aggressive, in-your-face anthem. It didn't have much in common with what Stone had played; the effect was as uncomfortable as Luka felt.

Like Stone, Luka gave it twelve bars before leaving it off. Stone was looking up into the air, at nothing in particular, before he shook his head. "Not really there, is it? Let's try this one."

His second song was another they'd all heard, but this one was fierce, harsh, a little repetitive to drive home its points. Stone jerked his head at Luka when he was done. Luka hesitated for a second—and then began.

His bandmates recognized it as "It's Not Me, It's You": Luka's song of anger. It wasn't the same as Stone's song, exactly, but everyone in the room felt a sort of resonance; the songs' hearts were in the same place.

"Thaaaat's better," said Stone, grinning his approval. "Alright, try this one." The next song was slower and grimmer. Luka answered with "Song of Depression". It didn't match Stone's song, but it sympathized.

Stone threw out a faster song, leading Luka up in tempo; Luka followed. After three exchanges, Stone maxed out with sixteen bars of finger-blistering frenzy. Luka didn't try to match. Instead, he started working them back down in tempo, and Stone obliged him.

Their songs weren't always in the same tempo or the same key, but they never clashed; each rocker was choosing his licks as if in progression, like they'd planned it all along.

After ten calls-and-responses altogether, Stone played a song that was affectionate, almost gentle (by his standards). Luka responded with "Wishing You the Best", the emotion of Acceptance.

The last notes faded. Ivan was still air-drumming. Rose was smiling so hard it seemed like her face had gotten stuck. Juleka was flushed and had a hand over her heart.

"Noooow I'm feeling it," said Stone, grinning like a maniac. "Rock on, bro." He extended a fist in Luka's direction.

Luka bumped fists in acknowledgement. "The pleasure's mine. You're as incredible as ever, Mr. Stone."

"Not 'as ever'," said Stone, taking off his own guitar and replacing it on the wall. "I've slowed down a bit, my voice has dropped some. You can't scream forever. I'm getting ready for a tour, but it might be my last one for a while."

"You're retiring?" blurted Rose.

"Eh, I'm sure I'll say that," said Stone, now taking Luka's guitar from his outstretched hand. "But I can always be teased back to the road if the fans are there… and the price is right," he added with a grin, looking at Penny. "Isn't that right, Penny?"

"If it makes you happy, it makes me happy," she said. "And it'll probably make Fang happy, too. He always appreciates the extra attention when you're home for a while."

"That said," said Stone, turning back to the teenagers, "I think you lot will be perfect."

"Perfect for what?" said Ivan.

"Tell 'em, Penny," said Stone as he walked back to his desk.

"Mr. Stone is saying he'd like Kitty Section to open for him at his show in Paris this summer."

"Really?" squeaked Juleka, who immediately looked embarrassed to have spoken up.

"For sure," said Stone, flopping back in his chair again. Once more his feet went up onto the desk. "And the other shows on the tour, if you're up for it. But Paris at least. Your duds are a close enough complement to ours, thanks to Marinette's style, and I dig your Stages of Grief album, and you just passed the sound test, so I know you can mesh with me and set me up right. The gig is yours, if you want it."

The members of Kitty Section could have been knocked over with a feather.

"Well, don't everyone respond at once," said Stone.

"We… well, we'd have to make sure we could," said Luka, playing for time, "and we'd need to plan it…"

Stone's eyes flicked across them. "Are you at least interested?"

"Yes!" shouted Rose triumphantly. Ivan gave a thumbs-up; even Juleka sheepishly nodded.

"Me too," said Luka.

"That's great, that's great!" said Stone. "I think we can make some sweet music together, I really do. Tell you what. We'll pencil you in for now, and when you're ready to work out the little things, give Penny a call, eh? And try and work out if you can tour with me, it'd be great."

The non-Luka band members held their silence until he nodded stiffly. "Sounds great, Mr. Stone. I…"

All at once, what Stone was offering him seemed to crash down on him. He put his hands in his hair. " _On tour with Jagged Stone?_ "

"It'll be righteous," said Stone, waving his thumb and pinky in the air.

"We'll see what we can do," Luka promised.

"And give Marinette a shout-out from me," Stone added.

The other band members looked carefully at Luka. He seemed stuck for a long moment, like he was being pulled in different directions. At last, a smile emerged on his face, and they could all tell he wasn't forcing it. "I'll do that."

* * *

From then on, Luka found it much more natural to sing "Wishing You the Best".

He supposed it was a lot easier to think fondly of the woman after she kick-started his music career.

* * *

Alya sighed as she scrolled through her bank account data from the safety of her home computer. With no superhero fights for weeks and weeks, the Ladyblog had been gasping for content. She'd run a few of the "Best of" and listicles she'd been keeping in reserve for dry spells like this, but those would sustain her only so long, she knew. She'd be able to scrape through college at this rate, but a bit of cushion would have been nice.

If only those superheroes could be convinced to have some battles in places convenient to her…

She was lost in thoughts of this type when she heard a tapping at her window. Surprised, she looked over. Whatever had done it was gone now. She looked back to the monitor and had swapped over to her spreadsheet when the tapping came again.

Grunting in frustration, she stood and stormed to the window, ready to give whatever this was a piece of her mind. She raised the window to open it—

-and in popped three shapes.

"Woah—hey!" She flailed at the shapes as they buzzed in the air. She panicked—these had to be the largest and brightest bugs she'd ever—

"Lay off!" shouted one of the shapes, black in color, as the shapes gained distance from Alya's waving hands.

"Please calm down," said a red shape.

As surprise started to wear off, Alya's brain finally resolved what she was seeing. "You're not bugs," she said, peering curiously. "Are you kwamis? Carrying a letter?"

"Took you long enough," grumbled the black kwami.

"We thought you might recognize a kwami when you saw one," said the red one more charitably, "even if you hadn't seen us specifically. You've seen Trixx often enough, after all."

"Yeah… it's been a while, though," said Alya, frowning. "How is he, by the way? Is everything okay? And which ones are you?"

"Humans and their questions," said the black shape with unhidden exasperation.

"Let's see how quickly I can explain," said the red, composing herself. "Fine, yes, Tikki and Plagg."

"Wow," the black shape said. "I'm impressed."

"But you answered so fast I didn't get much information," said Alya.

"That's humans for you. Never satisfied," said the black kwami.

"I'm Tikki the Ladybug," said the red one, "and that's my partner, Plagg the Black Cat."

"So you're Ladybug and Cat Noir's kwamis?" said Alya, her voice pitching up. Excitement rushed through her. "Oh, this is so cool! I've always wanted to meet you two, I knew you had to exist but I've never seen you and I have so many questions and…"

"You've asked enough questions already," said Plagg, waving her down. "We're not here for an interview."

"Oh… well, then why are you here?" said Alya, disappointment rich in her voice.

"So that you know this message is genuine," Tikki said. "See this letter?"

"Yes," said Alya, noting what the kwamis were carrying.

"This is from Ladybug and Cat Noir," Tikki explained. "It's an update about why they haven't been seen lately, and what the future might look like."

"Gimme!" said Alya, grabbing eagerly.

The kwamis rose up, dragging the letter with them and causing Alya's grab to miss. "Not yet," said Plagg, seeming to enjoy himself for the first time. "You have to make a promise first."

"Name it," said Alya with indecent eagerness.

"Publish this on the Ladyblog," said Plagg.

"Deal," said Alya instantly. In her head she could almost hear a cash register going cha-ching from the ad revenue she was about to get…

"We'll hold you to that," said Tikki more sternly. "You might not like what it says, which is why we need you to promise."

Alya put a hand over her chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"That can be arranged," said Plagg, almost hopefully.

"Plagg!" scolded Tikki.

"What?"

"This must be something really important," said Alya, eying the envelope greedily.

"It is," said Tikki. "That's why Ladybug and Cat Noir entrusted it to you, and only you. They believed that you would follow their instructions and honor their wishes with it. And it's a reward for your faithfulness in keeping other secrets."

The words struck Alya. She felt humbled and honored.

For a second. "Now gimme!" Alya said again, making another snatch. This time she succeeded.

"We have your promise, then," Tikki said as she and Plagg floated towards the window. "Thank you! Goodbye!"

They dropped out of view, back out the window, and by the time Alya made it to the window to try and see where they'd gone they'd vanished. Vanished like they'd never been there.

She knew they must have been, because she had the letter. She opened it.

And swore.

And kept swearing the more she read.

But a promise was a promise.

Shit.

* * *

_Next time: The Power of Love, Always So Strong_


	15. The Power of Love, Always So Strong

The first time Nathalie awoke was brief and indistinct. She had no concrete memories of it, just the sensation of weakness and pain, the clamor of noise and (maybe?) voices around her, and alternating light and dark. It had seemed like she was moving without moving, which hurt her head. She was fairly confident it hadn't lasted long.

The second time was longer and she retained more, but it made little more sense. She recognized at least that she was in a bed. Beeping noises were around her, though they were drowned out by agitated voices. The words didn't stick in her mind, but she did at least grasp that several people were talking. Her eyes swam and she could make out little. The lights were more stable this time, and she didn't think she was moving much. She remembered the last voice, though the words had eluded her: Gabriel Agreste. She had tried to look at him, and to reach for him, but that was as far as her memory went. She had to believe her body had failed her then.

The third time she awoke she was able to remember speech. She recognized a voice asking her if she knew her own name (yes), and if she knew what day it was (no), and how she was feeling (?). She wasn't sure if she'd been able to answer the questions; she certainly didn't remember what her answers had been. On the other hand, she'd been able to grasp where she was. She was in a bed, and there was a tube going into her arm, and a suspended bag next to her, and curtains surrounding her from what were undoubtedly other beds and setups around. A periodic beeping noise was coming from nearby the bag, just outside her line of sight. (Turning her head had been too difficult.) Pressure from what must have been a mask made her face ache.

From all those clues, she'd determined she was in a hospital.

She hadn't had the wherewithal at that moment to wonder why she was in a hospital. She'd felt so tired and disoriented that higher-level brain functions never engaged. She remembered asking where Gabriel was. She didn't recall the answer.

The fourth time she awoke was because she was thirsty. She thought she got some help with that. It was difficult to tell.

The fifth time she awoke was the first she returned to coherence.

She established, quickly by recent standards, that she was not exactly in a hospital. Her room had bright natural lighting; the window was open; she could hear a distant crashing sound that might have been waves. She almost believed it was a vacation home.

If it wasn't a hospital, it was at least serving as one for her. She heard the repetitive beeping noise nearby, and could feel the pressure in her arm where—her eyes, obeying her for once, confirmed—an intravenous line penetrated. She could move just enough to verify she had control.

She tried to take a deep breath to smell, but it seemed to strain her lungs. To her surprise she didn't erupt in coughs. She did decide not to try that again. Even so, she could detect salt on the air.

Laboriously, her mind lurched into motion. She closed her eyes to think. Where was she, what was she doing here, and where was Gabriel? Those, she decided, were the most important questions.

She was at a seaside villa, as near as she could tell, one that was used for medical care.

She was here because her body had given out on her. It didn't seem to have recovered; every part of her felt leaden and unresponsive, although she was able to make her toes wriggle to her satisfaction.

She didn't know where Gabriel was.

She strained through her memories. She could have sworn he'd been around at… some point?

It made her hurt, so she stopped. Instead she opened her eyes again and tried to reorient.

Her torso, she saw, was at a slight upwards angle, which helped her look around; she didn't think she could have raised her head much if she were lying flat. The room was furnished with comfortable-looking chairs. Above her were tracks in the ceiling which would support curtains, to close her off if she needed them. All the colors were pale and gentle, almost sun-bleached. Without her glasses she couldn't see much further than that.

To her right was an array of medical equipment, including a vital signs monitor and the rack for her IV line. It didn't look like she was getting anything through the line at the moment. She chose to interpret that as a good sign.

To her left was a tray, on which sat an empty cup, a jug of water, and a folded piece of paper that might have been a letter.

It sure seemed like a place that could support her long-term. How long had she been here already? Disorientation, a sensation that had been lurking the whole time, roared to the forefront of her mind. It was impossible to tell because she didn't know when it was. She felt like she'd woken up from an egregiously long nap, one that had started when…

She tried to remember back to what she was doing before the sleeping started. Gabriel was involved, she knew, but the harder she tried to think about it the more her head hurt. She stopped trying.

There didn't seem to be anyone in the room with her, so the only source of information she might have would be her phone—oh, ha ha, as if she still had that. By touch she identified that she was wearing a hospital gown, albeit the softest and most comfortable hospital gown she'd ever experienced. Okay, what else might help her out?

She looked back at the paper on the tray. It had been left where she could reach it, so clearly no one was concerned with her seeing it. In that case…

She realized she'd forgotten how to use her hand.

How long had she been asleep?

It took her several minutes to convince the muscles in her arm to cooperate. Even then it took enormous effort. Her grasp for the paper was clumsy, but it succeeded. Now that she was able to look at it better, she saw that someone had placed tape to hold it shut. This would have been a symbolic obstacle to a healthy person; it was a genuine barrier to her. She fumbled with it, trying to tease it apart, grateful all the while that Gabriel wasn't there to see her botching such a trivial task.

Eventually there was a tearing sound, and the tape came free (along with some of the paper). Nathalie celebrated by relaxing, letting her body go slack. Everything had taken a surprising amount of effort; despite having just woken up, Nathalie felt like she could go back to sleep any moment, and the prospect appealed.

Still, she'd gone to all the trouble to open this letter, she might as well read the damn thing. After sitting idle for another few seconds, she dragged the paper up her body and tried to focus. She saw immediately that it was a hand-written letter; with a jolt, she recognized Gabriel's scrawl.

_Nathalie,_

_You are at an exclusive medical hospice on the Mediterranean coast. It specializes in recuperation and physical therapy for the rich of France. It is possible you will be here for some time. Your circumstances are unusual, so the doctors have struggled to give a timeline for your recovery. You have been steadily improving, which gives them hope; nevertheless, I wanted to ensure you would be somewhere suitable for a long stay, despite the exorbitant cost._

_I will be blunt: it was unclear, for quite some time, whether or not you would survive your idiocy._

_The doctors determined that you were suffering from long-term nutritional and sleep deficits which, combined with stress, weakened your immune system. Though they didn't know it, I confirmed that these compounded with your use of the Peacock Miraculous, which was already eroding your health. This left you susceptible to infections of the lungs, and it was these that nearly killed you._

_It was very foolish of you to push yourself so hard. In your zeal to serve me—which I do not discourage—you made yourself a liability. A dead assistant does me no good._

_I am, therefore, taking steps to ensure that you make a full recovery. I am placing you on administrative leave until the hospice discharges you. I am reducing my involvement in the Agreste brand to allow me to personally oversee your rehabilitation. In addition, to ensure you are not tempted to jeopardize your health again, I have returned the Moth and Peacock Miraculouses—_

Nathalie squeezed her eyes tightly shut and reopened them. The words were still there. She re-read them several times to be absolutely sure.

_-have returned the Moth and Peacock Miraculouses to the Guardian of the Miraculous. Out of sight, out of mind._

_Your dedication is a credit to the Agreste brand, and you have served me well. It would be negligent to permit that very dedication to kill you. I will not allow that kind of carelessness in my staff._

_We will discuss this more when you awake._

_-Gabriel Agreste-_

Only her weakness kept Nathalie from gaping at that extraordinary letter. Even as her hands rested and her eyes came shut, she was preoccupied re-reading it in her mind.

In its tone—from the cold, distant language to the it's-a-you-problem guilt trips—it was pure Gabriel. In its content, in what the letter said Gabriel was actually doing, it was impossible.

He _returned the Miraculouses?_

No. No way was that true. Couldn't be.

Could it?

Her head hurt again. She wanted to stop thinking about it. She didn't think she could.

One thing was for certain: Gabriel was being as impersonal as ever. She didn't believe for a second that he'd let his brand totter on without him. Administrative leave was non-paying and didn't keep him from hiring another personal assistant. As for his pledge to "personally oversee" her rehab? His idea of "personally overseeing" his son had been two dinners over a span of two weeks and ordering the staff to conduct more surveillance.

It was time for her to start getting used to the idea of being alone a lot—

A snort drew her attention. It was in the corner of the room to her left, beyond where she'd been able to look so far; the railing of her bed was in the way. Maybe, if she threw her head a bit…

Gabriel.

She gasped. He was sitting in a chair in the corner with a blanket over most of him and his chin on his chest. He was asleep. How long had he been there?

Hours, it had to be. He'd fallen asleep there. He was sporting a shadow of facial hair. It didn't look comfortable at all.

But if he was here, why write the letter?

Her mind, though still sluggish, was able to answer that question: he didn't know when she was going to wake up. He wanted to ensure that she understood as soon as she awoke, even if he was asleep.

She reeled at the notion. The distance Gabriel had always maintained between them, and which she had so willingly honored, had vanished in a moment. She was no longer incidental or convenient, part of the machinery of his life; he was investing his own time in her.

No one did obsession like Gabriel Agreste.

To feel that… was staggering.

It was more than she could deal with in her state. She closed her eyes, and immediately recognized that they wouldn't be opening again any time soon.

The last time she'd slept, her world had radically changed when she woke up. She wondered, before sleep claimed her, what the world would be like the sixth time she awoke.

* * *

"Wait a minute."

"Hm?" said Marinette, turning to look down the stairs at Adrien.

"Isn't it…" he coughed. "I've heard it's traditional to carry the bride over the threshold."

"We're not married yet," Marinette pointed out.

"But we will be soon," Adrien said, "and we'll have been living here a bit before the wedding, won't we? We won't get another first time."

"True." She smiled. "You can be such a romantic at times. I like it. Okay, let's do it, but wait until I get the door open first."

"Fine by me," said Adrien. He was just fine with being behind and below Marinette on the stairs, thinking not-exactly-romantic thoughts. She had _such_ a nice ass.

Perhaps feeling his eyes, Marinette wiggled more than strictly necessary as she worked the key and threw open the door. Finally she dropped her backpack off her shoulders. "Alright, come get me."

"With pleasure, milady," he said gallantly. He stepped up and swept her off her feet; she squealed at the motion.

"Don't you dare drop me," she said breathlessly, eying the stairs.

"Over my dead body," he replied. "Seriously, if I drop you, you're falling on me while I'm falling down the stairs, and I'll just die."

"My hero."

The fitness of a hero served him well as he stepped into the apartment, Marinette still wrapped up in his arms. "Welcome home," he said.

"I like the sound of that."

He set her down as the two of them let their eyes wander. It was everything Gerard Maison and his photos had promised. The kitchen was partially enclosed, and opened into a combined dining-living space. A short hall featured the doorways to the two bedrooms and bathroom. They could see the furnishings that had been promised: couch, refrigerator, window air units, all of them modern-looking. The walls and couch were a light beige, while the kitchen was a mix of that and a darker wood. The kitchen was tiled, the living area was wood, while carpet began in the hall.

"It's real," said Marinette.

"Yeah," breathed Adrien.

"And…" she swallowed. "And it's _ours_."

"Ours," Adrien agreed, savoring the word.

"It's perfect."

"Well," said Adrien, and he glanced around, as if searching for something objectionable, "we're going to have to buy a lot of furniture."

"Not as much as you think. We've got a baby shower coming up. My mom's putting it together, and it's her baby shower too. She's going totally overboard with it."

"It's not overboard if we're starting from zero," Adrien riposted.

"True," she granted.

"What about grown-up furniture?" he persisted.

"We can afford some. I just got a message that my _whole_ portfolio sold. We've got money coming."

"How much?"

She smirked. "Let's just say… ooh-la-la."

"Have I mentioned lately how awesome you are?" Adrien looked about some more, as if determined to find a flaw in the apartment. "Too bad this place's colors are a little bland."

"That's part of what makes it perfect," Marinette said. "It's neutral right now, which means we can take it in whatever direction we want. It's like a blank canvas."

"A clean slate."

"A naked model."

"A… wait, what?"

Marinette laughed. "Don't worry," she purred. "You're my only naked model."

He smiled ruefully. "You are sharp as a tack, Bugaboo."

"'Bugaboo'? I'm in semi-retirement, you know."

"And at such an early age," he replied.

"You are, too," she pointed out.

Adrien nodded. "Our schoolmates could barely talk about anything else today. With exams done, what else would we talk about? Alya ran our letter as soon as she could. 'Superheroes declare victory: Hawk Moth surrenders, Ladybug and Cat Noir to withdraw from public life.' "

"You have no idea how hard it was to act surprised when she shoved it in front of me today," Marinette said with a sigh. "I couldn't defend us too much, it would've looked suspicious, and Alya needed some sympathy."

"She's taking it hard, then?" said Adrien as he walked towards the kitchen.

"As hard as we expected, really," Marinette replied as she followed him. "She got bonkers traffic out of running the letter, but that'll decay, and she always did love covering our exploits. She loved being part of them, too. She'll miss superheroes."

"There's always The Owl."

"Stop. Oh, this is nice."

"I'll take your word for it," Adrien said as his eyes wandered about the unfamiliar room.

She shot him a mischievous look. "The perils of growing up rich. You have no idea what all this is for, do you?"

"For… making food," Adrien said.

"That's a dishwasher."

"…I knew that."

She laughed merrily. "I've dragged home a stray, and now I have to housebreak him."

"This is real life," he said with a wry grin and a helpless shrug.

"And real life will be our life for a while," said Marinette soberly. "Think about this. After the Imperative lifts, I'll want to go back to hero work—and I know you will, too."

"It's part of who we are," said Adrien. "It's part of what I love about you."

"The thing is, we always did our best work as a team," she went on. "But if we both transform and go charging into some disaster, who's watching the baby?"

He frowned. "With Hawk Moth gone, we have all the Miraculouses. We won't have to deal with supervillain-level threats, right? Just low-level stuff. If we're not fighting him, I think we'd be okay with just one…"

"Hm?" she said when he trailed off.

"No," he said, changing his mind before her eyes. "Even if we took it in turns, it wouldn't be the same. I don't want to be Cat Noir. I want to be _your_ Cat Noir. I want to be Cat Noir with my Ladybug." He looked up at her. "You're right, it's a problem."

Marinette looked down at her belly. "You're a real troublemaker, did you know that?"

"Don't blame the baby," Tikki said from Marinette's handbag.

"Oh, did you just volunteer to take the blame, then?" said Marinette.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Tikki, emerging as Marinette let her out. "My anti-birth control aura doesn't affect people who never bothered to use birth control."

Marinette winced, but Adrien blinked. "She has a _what_ , now?"

"Let's just say that we'll be keeping Tikki more than five meters from the master bed," Marinette said. "For now, though, check it out, Tikki! This is our home!"

"Oooh, I like it," Tikki cooed, zipping through the air. "So homey and fresh!"

"I suppose I should give Plagg a chance to breathe," Adrien said with faux-reluctance, and he released the black cat kwami.

"That's all I'm getting out of this," Plagg said with unconvincing resentment. "All places are alike to me. I won't get all domestic."

"Whatever you say, buddy," said Adrien, "but the windows that face the sun are over there."

"Hm?" said Plagg, turning in the direction of Adrien's finger, where even then sunlight was filtering into a puddle on the floor. "Well, that's nice for people who care about that sort of thing."

"I give him five minutes," Adrien mouthed at Marinette. She giggled.

"The good news is I can work from home a lot," said Marinette. "That makes things easier in the short-term, but not as far as hero work goes."

Adrien was looking thoughtful as he observed the kwamis—Tikki buzzing around and taking in the new spaces, Plagg nonchalantly drifting towards the sun puddle. "Well, there's a solution," he said. "Make her a part of the team."

"Who?" said Marinette suspiciously.

"Our daughter."

"You are out of your mind."

"If we can't leave her behind," said Adrien with a pretty good imitation of sincerity, "let's just bring her along."

"I'm not stuffing my baby into a sling so I can keep her handy when I become Ladybug."

"I'm not saying that, I'm saying give her a kwami so she can do her part."

"You've been watching too many American shows," Marinette said, burying her hand in her palm. "She's not even born yet and you're talking about giving her a kwami!"

"You said 'she'," Adrien said gleefully.

She glared up at him. "It's a good thing you're cute and I love you."

"And he makes good babies," said Tikki approvingly.

Marinette flushed as Adrien guffawed. "Hey, whose side are you on?"

The kwami just smiled, shrugged, and buzzed off again.

"We can talk about it more later," said Marinette, turning towards the back of the house. "We don't need to have all the answers yet. I'll come up with a plan eventually."

"That's your specialty," said Adrien.

It was. For some reason, Marinette had a feeling that "Auntie Alix" would be involved somehow. Their friend did know how to keep a secret…

"Well, we've got time," she said, turning on lights to illuminate the bedrooms. "Like you said, Hawk Moth is done, and we're retired. We get to start again on our terms, when we're ready, and not because some enemy Miraculous-user declares war. We get to do it our way." She looked at him triumphantly. "You know what that means, right?"

He blinked. "It means a lot of things. What are you thinking?"

"We won!" she said, raising her arms. "I don't know how we did it, but we won! I thought it would have to be some dramatic confrontation, some big final showdown, with us giving out Miraculouses to random passers-by just to have enough firepower to survive the onslaught… I thought it would end with a bang. But it really is over, isn't it?"

"We've got the missing Miraculouses back under our control," Adrien agreed, "and just in time to be done with high school exams for good. That sounds like 'it's over' to me. But that's just one adventure. Our next adventure's just getting started."

"I like the way you think," she said. "And I know the perfect way to kick things off."

She walked into the master bedroom. The door to the master bath was open, though neither made a move to investigate just yet. As advertised, the master bed was furnished. The queen-sized bed dominated the room, though it was bereft of sheets.

"Thinking about going to bed already, milady?" he teased.

"Yes, actually," she said slyly. "But not in that bed. There will be _so_ many chances to make love in that bed. Days and weeks and years. For now, we need to break in the rest of our home."

"'Break in'?"

"I want sex in every room in the apartment," she explained, walking back out of the master bedroom and into the second bedroom. This was wholly empty, though it had a small closet whose doors were open. "That's how we break it in. We experience the whole thing." She smirked at him. "It might be easier to do before our stuff gets here."

He recovered from his surprise quickly. "I will gladly make sweet, tender love to you wherever you like."

She waggled her eyebrows at him. "So long as you promise to fuck me a few times, too."

He laughed. "Any time you're ready, my lady," he said, stepping up to embrace her.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said. "Stay right here. I need my backpack."

She tapped a finger against his lips before squirting out of his grasp, not unlike what she'd done for years as Ladybug, fending off Cat Noir's advances. And, just like it had all those times, her evasion didn't dampen his desire for her at all: it inflamed it. Knowing she would actually come back this time made the feeling even more intense.

He didn't have to wait long. When she reentered the room, she was unfurling a sleeping bag. Adrien couldn't help but laugh. "Is that the sleeping bag your mom offered us?"

"Yep," said Marinette merrily as she laid it out. "Ladybug always knows when something might come in handy later."

"You have a fertile imagination, Bugaboo."

Cringing, Marinette put a hand over her belly. "Did you seriously just say that?"

"I'm not sorry, but how about I kiss you as if I was?"

She gave a contented hum. "Close enough."

"I have to warn you, though," he said, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms. "Once I start, I might not be able to stop."

She batted her eyes at him. "That's the idea."

"I love you, my Ladybug."

"I love you, my Adrien."

In the living room, Tikki sighed happily. "They're so cute at this age," she said, pretending to wipe away a tear.

"Whatever," said Plagg, curled up in the sun puddle and ostentatiously paying no attention.

"I love you too, old friend."

"That's not what I said," Plagg retorted, annoyed.

"Yes it was," Tikki replied. "I can translate Plagg-ese."

"Whatever."

The Kwami of Creation smiled in triumph.

* * *

_Fin_


	16. Afterword

Thanks for reading “The Biological Imperative”. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Welcome to the afterword.

Which means it’s time for a confession: I have _heard_ far more “Miraculous” than I have _seen_.

For quite some time my major exposure to this show was as background noise, hearing it in the next room as I did some other activity. I would say I’m still not really “in” the fandom, exactly. I haven’t seen every episode, and I know (from reading comments) that I missed some nuances a more vested fan wouldn’t. I did appreciate early on, however, that the premise is very versatile. It lends itself to a wide variety of stories... like whatever the heck this is.

It is fascinating to compare and contrast Miraculous with the classic manga “Ranma ½”. Ranma is, like Miraculous, a high-school-based romantic-action-comedy, with a heaping helping of identity play and protagonists too wrapped up in their own feels to do anything. Miraculous targets pre-teens; Ranma is for teen-and-up. Miraculous keeps its violence sanitized; Ranma, er, doesn’t. Miraculous keeps its relationships romantic, without sexual implications; Ranma really doesn’t. Miraculous’ character designs are de-sexualized; Ranma’s _really_ aren’t. Miraculous is a monster-of-the-week show in format, and has become more like a sentai series as time goes on; Ranma, despite all the punching, is more sitcom-y, where the cast expands but the basic situation never changes. Miraculous is trying for an overarching plot that advances over time within its sentai structure; Ranma’s stories typically end in the same place they begin. (Ranma’s creator is notoriously resolution-averse.)

I saw, when I first started actually looking at Miraculous, that with some different sensibilities it could easily have been like Ranma ½; its romantic tension could turn into sexual tension with the slightest effort. It can go in a lot of different directions.

The central tension in Miraculous is, of course, the Ladybug/Cat/Marinette/Adrien tangle. To some extent it feels like cheating to skip to a point in time when that tension is already resolved. For me, the reveal itself—the moment of it and the choreography of it—isn’t that interesting. We already have a notion of how the characters would react to that information, after all, based on our knowledge of the characters and the episode “Cat Blanc” (more on that below). The moment of the reveal, to me, might be dramatic, but it’s not compelling.

I found it far more interesting to think about what the reveal would mean for the characters and their situations. What happens next? What happens after? And aren’t these teenagers, meaning they’re not clear on the difference between love and lust and they’re not good at the whole “understanding consequences” thing? That’s where this story came from.

…Sort of. I really started thinking about the story with the scenes of Tikki and Marinette: specifically the first one, with its “snapped together like magnets” discussion, and the first post-pregnancy-test one, where Marinette outs Tikki as a fertility goddess. Soon after I came up with my favorite single line in the story: “All of them.” Those thoughts, random as they seemed at the time, were the start, and I built the rest of the story around them.

I’m sure you’ve noticed the common element here. The kwamis were the most fun characters to write. They’re not human; they interact with humans on human terms, and they like humans well enough, but they have their own priorities. Those differences in priorities give plenty of opportunities for absurdity. The kwamis get most of the best lines.

The kwamis also play a necessary role in keeping the “Miraculous” flavor after the Imperative goes active. For a long-ish “Miraculous” story, there’s very little here in the way of transforming and superhero-ing. Keeping the kwamis in the story helps us remember this isn’t just a random high-school-drama story, but one with that extra supernatural bit. The kwamis make excellent spice.

* * *

Speaking of spice: I went back and forth (like, a lot) on the explicit scene. (There’s really only the one; the rest is all implied or softcore. I would have rated this story ‘M’ without that one scene.) I was trapped in my own head about it, and a lot of it had to do with trying to define the type of story this is. It’s not smut, but it is a story with characters swimming in their hormones, and where sex (and its *ahem* products) ends up driving the action.  
  
Strictly speaking, the explicit scene isn’t plot-necessary. The version of this story on fanfiction.net omits it and doesn’t suffer much. I included it here because I felt it was important character-wise. Adrien needs the catharsis. Marinette doesn’t; she pined after Adrien, and she got someone who almost all the time is Adrien. Adrien being Cat Noir sometimes doesn’t confuse things, it just makes them better. Adrien’s situation is more complicated. He loved and lusted after Ladybug; it’s a bigger ask to transfer that to the reality of Marinette (whom he knew on other terms). He gets a lot of emotional resolution here out of living his fantasy and associating it with Marinette.

If the scene is in, it has to be at least somewhat explicit, partly because their sex would be different transformed than untransformed and that’s worth thinking about, and partly because of the character issue Adrien/Cat is exploring. I couldn’t go softcore (like I do in chapter 6) and have it work.

That’s part of my justification, anyway. In the story’s planning stages, I considered making it a full-on smut-fic with gratuitous explicit sex. That would have been a different type of fun. I would not have been able to cross-post something like that. Honestly, that’s so far out of my usual style that I would’ve felt compelled to create a new account for the purpose. This was my compromise. It works for me.

* * *

Since this is a “resolution” story, certain characters needed to have their plotlines wrapped up. Not every character merits the same attention. Max and Kim are just kinda there, you know? Even more prominent characters, like Nino, I neglected if they didn’t have a plot-relevant throughline that needed concluding. (I acknowledged Alya/Nino as a thing with some throwaway lines, but there’s nothing to resolve. It’s canonical and uncomplicated.) The characters who have plot threads that directly relate to the central tension demanded more care. That includes romantic links to the human leads (Kagami, Luka) or links to the superheroes (Alya, Alix). This logic explains a lot of my choices in terms of who gets screentime, and how much.

Other than Adrien and Marinette, the characters who need the most resolution are the villains: Chloe, Gabriel, Nathalie, and Lila.

I didn’t start out hoping to “redeem” Chloe, and I don’t think any term so trite or simple is really deserved. What’s aggravating about Chloe is that she’s so wasteful. She has energy and with-it-ness and she knows how to marshal the resources available to her. If she put it together, she could do a lot of good. That’s what’s so annoying about her: that she instead chooses to be so petty. She isn’t like Lila, who’s out-and-out despicable. The show positions Chloe to where she could be a good person, but is too self-important to get there.

The idea of her ideating suicide (or something—people in that mindset are unreliable narrators) came to me very late. Tonally, it’s a rhythm break in the story. Most of the story is light and a little absurd, and then this crashes the party.

Still, it fits with the characters, and the theme of unintended consequences. Chloe is a teenaged girl who’s ruled by her passions and lives for drama; you can guarantee she has access to alcohol; if she had depression, she’d have almost all the risk factors for suicide. Then this thing comes along which submarines her mood…

But the story was never going to linger long in these waters. It’s not that kind of story. So Adrien does what he does best, which is be touchy-feely whether it’s deserved or not, and Marinette does what she does best, which is find a way to use all her tools. The result isn’t a Chloe who thinks “I should use my powers for good”, but a Chloe who thinks “Maybe it can be about other people sometimes”… which, honestly, is about as good as you can expect from someone like Chloe, and that’s worth celebrating.

So… “Cat Blanc”. I actually started writing this story before I saw the episode all the way through. I don’t think I’d have made any different choices if I’d seen the episode first. Its role in the series is to reinforce the danger of Ladybug and Cat Noir knowing each other’s identities, and so help keep them apart, thus preserving the series’ essential tension. That’s fine. It doesn’t mean Marinette and Adrien discovering each other _necessarily_ leads to doom; it means that particular sequence of events leads to doom. There are a lot of variables there, including how and why Gabriel finds out, and how he reacts to all this.

This ends up being a key point. Gabriel Agreste is a static character in the show. He doesn’t appear to change much over the course of the series thus far. To some extent this is in-character: he’s stubborn, willful, proud, and convinced of his course. Those traits don’t lend themselves to change. It’s also plot-necessary: a monster of the week show needs someone to generate the monsters. Anything that changes Gabriel’s ability or incentive to create new villains is an existential threat to the series.

That’s what fanfiction is for, though. Because we don’t have to sustain the story for another season, we can explore how characters might really react to their circumstances. Allow Gabriel to be dynamic—allow him to be affected by all the events of the story—and the landscape shifts quite a bit.

Specifically, if Gabriel can change, it means we avoid the “Cat Blanc” timeline. Hooray. (Also, Adrien definitively choosing Marinette thwarts the “stressed indecision” part of “Cat Blanc”, and denies Gabriel that avenue of attack.)

This doesn’t mean Gabriel is “redeemed”, per se, nor is his plotline entirely resolved. He’s still got a comatose, time-preserved (-ish?) wife in his basement, and now he has no firm idea of what to do about it. It’s not like he stopped loving her when he shifted the bulk of his attention to Nathalie.

Not everything gets to be tied up neatly. Gabriel is still unethical and driven. Deciding not to seize the Miraculouses because he’d have to do bad things to his kid (and worse to his grandkid) is a very low moral bar to clear. He’ll be up to stuff… just not as Hawk Moth.

Writing a Nathalie who’s just as ruthless as Gabriel was fun. Writing a Nathalie who appreciates Gabriel for his ruthlessness was _necessary_. Any time a villain has henchmen, it begs the question of what ties the henchmen to the villain. It’s really obscure in “Miraculous”. Gabriel’s an asshole boss in general and he doesn’t spare Nathalie from that. His attainment of power wouldn’t help her, not when the reason for his seeking power isn’t to rule the world or accumulate wealth; even if he succeeds there are no spoils to share. Why does she follow him, then?

If there’s no rational explanation, then love (being inherently irrational) is the only answer left. You can have a “conflicted Nathalie” type of story if she loves the positive in him and has to tolerate the negative, which is a high price to pay given that he’s, you know, Gabriel. In contrast, having her _appreciate_ the negative in him changes the dynamic.

Nathalie likes Adrien, both because he’s connected to Gabriel and in his own right, but her true loyalty is singular. Exhibit A: “Cat Blanc” (again!), where she rats out Adrien as Cat Noir (and so sets doomsday in motion). Besides, this way was more fun for this story, so yeah, Nathalie is kinda turned on by Gabriel taking no prisoners.

In some ways, Gabriel was asking for this. Gabriel does not suffer fools who put his goals second. A Nathalie who enables him, who amplifies his worst instincts, is the only sort of person he’d trust with Duusu. But that sort of person is burning their candle at both ends. By the same token, though, she’s not going to tell him he’s wrong for changing course. If he wants to give her attention… she may not know how to handle that, but she won’t refuse.

If Chloe gets moderated, and Hawk Moth retires, and Mayura retires AND gets doted on by Gabriel, then most of the show’s baddies come out of it alright. Beaten, but better for it. That leaves Lila.

Pfft, as if I was going to let _Lila_ have nice things.

We’re using the Dante’s Inferno standard, here. When Dante was populating Hell, he put people in a milder circle if their sins were associated with love, the ultimate positive force. Chloe’s a brat in general, but her actions in this story were driven by her broken heart, and thus forgivable (at least by ultra-softy Adrien). Nathalie was motivated by her devotion to Gabriel; Gabriel by his devotion to Emilie and his (incredibly) misguided protectiveness of Adrien.

There’s no love behind Lila’s actions, so fuck her.

I went back and forth between Alix and Alya as to who’d get to claim Lila’s scalp. Alix was my first instinct, but I worried that I hadn’t done enough to establish her to give her such a juicy reward, and I wasn’t sure that the scoop on the heroes’ retirement was enough of a reward for Alya. I addressed that (to my satisfaction, anyway) by rewriting a few bits to give Alix more time, and specifically more time looking after Marinette’s interests, to better establish her as a sort of guardian angel for Marinette. That made me feel better.

Lila’s arc could have gone longer. I already had her next lie in mind: “Oh, Marinette blackmailed me into stealing the tests for her, I was just making the delivery now!” I chose not to let her go that way, even though her personality and wit say she could have done it. If I let her go down that rabbit hole, it takes a lot more work and story time to disprove it, and the final result is the same. No, it was better to shut it down there.

* * *

It was really, *really* hard to resist spoiling my own story. There were some insightful comments, and it’s unclear to me in times like that how much is readers being clever and how much is me broadcasting my intentions. (This gets me in my own head because I’m always second-guessing how obvious to make my clues). Time and again I found myself wanting to engage with a comment, only to refrain to avoid giving the game away. Fun times.

It was hardest when people posted theories. The theory that amazed me most was people thinking Nathalie was pregnant. Here I was trying to drop low-key hints that Nathalie was working herself to death, and people were like, “Oh, this is a story where everyone gets pregnant, she must be preggo too.”

Don’t get me wrong, that’s a super-interesting idea. It starts with the assumption that Gabriel is banging Nathalie. I have to believe she’s totally down for it (c.f. her being turned on by his fanaticism), and she’s 100% on the pill just in case. It’s odder for him given that his entire motivation is unhealthy, nigh-infernal devotion to Emilie. He could probably justify it with something along the lines of, “I’m just doing it to take the edge off while I work towards my real goal”. He’s a master of compartmentalization. He could do it.

…aaaaand I think I just talked myself into it. Headcanon accepted! (To such an extent I had to write this as a one-shot called “Spillover”, posting tonight.) However, that doesn’t lend itself to _Nathalie_ being pregnant. He wouldn’t want it, and her devotion to him would prevent her from getting pregnant against his will. She also doesn’t have a Tikki in her life to turn off her birth control. So: sex, sure; pregnancy, no.

It’s fun to think about, even if it was totally not the direction I was going with those hints. But who knows what happens after the story’s over?

* * *

Lightning round!

Q: Did you have everything written in the beginning or how did you go about writing it in a way that let you keep up with this schedule?

As personal policy, I don’t start posting until a story is either written or nearly so. This doesn’t mean it’s ‘complete’ or ‘finished’. I added in whole scenes in later chapters based on how the story was flowing, and I habitually polish chapters up to the very minute of posting. The major muscle movements, though, I have written out before posting begins. (With the exception of a novel-length story in another fandom that got completely away from me. Whoops!)

The benefits are twofold: if I write something later on that I like and I need to change something earlier to accommodate, I can, because I haven’t started posting yet; and I can keep a super-consistent posting schedule. With this story I took it a step further and tried to post at the same _time_ every week, not just the same night. I blame 2020.

Q: Did Gabriel’s returning the Miraculouses happen off-screen?

Yes. That was a choice. In that moment, Nathalie’s surprise and disbelief (hopefully) matches the reader’s, creating emotional resonance. I considered the alternative. I thought through a couple ways of staging it on the page, and I wasn’t crazy about any of them. There really wasn’t anything I could accomplish with that scene that I didn’t accomplish with the one-two combo of the letter to Alya and Nathalie’s scene. Plus, it would have introduced some unwanted angst by begging the question of, “Wait, Hawk Moth knows where Ladybug and Cat Noir live?” That’s not a vibe I wanted to entertain at this part of the story. I’m satisfied with this.

Q: What kwami does Marinette’s daughter get?

This is assuming Adrien gets his way here, and you’d better believe that would be a knock-down, drag-out fight… but the question is funny, and it has a clear answer: Nooroo (amusingly enough). Nooroo is the kwami whose powers are the most indirect because they focus on amplifying others. This hits a particular parenting sweet spot: letting the kid be part of things and contribute, but without them having to shoulder the heavy lifting or be in the line of fire themselves. Chibi Moth can be part of the team by buffing her parents while keeping herself at a reserve.

For the love of cheese, keep the kid away from Mullo the Mouse.

* * *

Thanks again for reading!


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